Turning Points
by Alathea2
Summary: He was created to be one of the greatest tacticians Cybertron has ever seen. He was destined to become Second in Command of the Autobots; a friend, tactical advisor and confidant to Optimus Prime. Every story, every life, is made up of a series of turning points that set the course for the future. Prowl's journey from Lead Decepticon Tactician to Autobot SIC is no different.
1. Praxus

_I have read several stories that explore the history of either Jazz or Prowl and how those histories intersect and how both became the 'Bots we all know and love. Many such stories involve one or the other starting off the war as Decepticon and then changing sides primarily due to some interaction with the other. This is my take on that history and, as usual, it will have some notable differences to those that have inspired it. __ It takes place early in the war, within the first decavorn._

* * *

Lieutenant Prowl stared hard at the data flicking across the terminal in front of him, his red optics not missing a single line of data as he reviewed the latest intelligence from their spies in Praxus and Iacon. Around him the other mechs staffing the Decepticon Command Center worked silently, each intent on their own jobs, each determined not to attract the usually cruel attention of the large silver Lord Protector sitting in the centralized, throne-like command chair.

Prowl, for his part, was truly more interested in his duties. Megatron despised incompetence, but rewarded competence. Prowl was nothing if not competent. For that reason if he kept his opinions to himself and did his job, he was usually safe from the Decepticon leader's infamous temper. Therefore, it was only logical to take the course that most ensured survival.

For the same reason, it was the most logical choice for him to serve Megatron.

While Prowl detested war, his tactical computer – once used by the enforcers of Praxus – made him almost a tangible asset to whichever side he chose to aid. That same tactical computer had calculated that the Decepticons – with the Seekers and most of the militia siding with them – was the most likely to win the war.

Therefore, the most logical decision was to join the Decepticons and use his considerable ability in tactical planning to help end the war as quickly a possible. That was critical because, that same tactical computer had also predicted that if the war was not ended _quickly_ the results for Cybertron would be catastrophic.

Some of the most recent orders given by Megatron were… abhorrent, to say the least: designed to instill horror in the populous rather than to strictly defeat the Autobots.

However, Prowl was able to satisfy his ethical subroutines by the knowledge that he, at least as a central command tactician, did not have to wet his hands with the energon of innocents. Not directly. And he was able to plan attacks that would decimate the _enemy_ while sparing what civilians he could.

Oh, he would probably still rust in the pit for what he _had_ done – what he made possible for others to do – but the end of the war was his primary goal and, for the sake of Cybertron, any means to that end was a necessary evil.

At least that was what he told himself each time before he powered down for recharge.

Nothing in Prowl's outside demeanor gave anything of his internal contemplation away. Nor did his personal introspection distract him from his rapid perusal, computation and analysis of the information racing across his screen.

"Lieutenant Prowl." Megatron's voice suddenly growled.

Prowl straightened, his doorwings carefully stiff not giving evidence to the sudden nervousness he felt. He turned to face the towering Lord Protector. His voice was also carefully void of inflection. "Yes, Lord Megatron?"

"Come with me."

The Decepticon leader stood, spinning around to leave the command center. Prowl had no choice but to follow. Seldom was it a good thing to be called into a private audience with Megatron. Regardless, Prowl kept his tension to himself, following with stiff spinal struts and flared doorwings.

Megatron walked into his office and Prowl followed. He did not dare flinch as the door hissed closed behind him.

"You have been serving me for nearly a decavorn now, yes?" The towering silver mech stood with his back to Prowl, but the tactician was not deceived: Megatron knew exactly what he was doing and where he was.

"Indeed, Lord Megatron."

"Do not think that it has escaped my notice that you are less than enthused about the more aggressive measures I have taken over the last few vorns." Megatron paused, but Prowl was not going to volunteer anything.

After a moment, Megatron turned, his ruby optics glinting dangerously in the low light. "Should I begin to doubt your dedication to the Decepticon cause, Prowl?"

Prowls doorwings twitched barely a fraction of a centimeter, despite his best efforts to prevent it. "My dedication is as it has always been." He said carefully. It was true. True enough to not tip off Soundwave if the telepathic communications expert was listing in at least.

"And yet your plans continue to be too pacifistic." The Lord Protector snarled, leaning in closer to Prowl, towering menacingly over him.

Prowl hesitated, knowing he had to tread carefully, though he was careful to keep his expression and posture that of neutrality. "My plans are 98% effective, ensuring the highest probability of Autobot losses and the lowest probability of losses to our own forces. When followed, the Decepticons have won every engagement with undeniable superiority."

"You do nothing to engage the rest of the population!" Megatron snapped, his optics flashing.

Prowl simply returned his commander's angry glare with a cool, dispassionate stare of his own, through he quietly began turning off his neural relays and pain receptors, just in case Megatron decided to get violent.

Instead, after a long moment, Megatron seemed to regain control of his temper. "By not engaging the neutral element of the population, you are prolonging the war."

Prowl's doorwings twitched minutely again. Everything in his tactical and logic systems screamed at him of the falsity of that statement. But he could not say that. He opted for the only thing that was usually safe to say whatever the situation; a perfectly inflectionless, "Sir."

Suddenly a large silver hand darted out to circle his throat and squeezed. Prowl's optics flashed with alarm involuntarily, though he did not try to defend himself knowing that with Megatron, that would just incur greater wrath.

Those fingers tightened dangerously over the delicate armor seams, compressing the engergon lines beneath. It was and act of will and determination that Prowl did not reveal his mounting concern, now bordering on fear.

Suddenly he was released, staggering slightly in his sudden freedom, though Megatron's angry growl was enough to reinforce that he was not out of danger yet. "For now you are lucky I have need of you."

A data chip was flicked at him, which Prowl caught easily, while simultaneously pulling a datapad out of subspace. Some mechs might have simply plugged the chip into their own wrist ports, but Prowl did not trust Megatron not to put some kind of horrid virus on it just for his own amusement.

Sliding the chip into the datapad, Prowl reviewed the contents as rapidly as his processors could handle. "We are assaulting Praxus?"

"Yes. Attacking such a prominent neutral city will force other neutral strongholds to choose a side when they see they are not immune from assault. They will be _forced_ to choose sides and, as it will be clear the Autobots," that was said with a derisive hiss and accompanying sneer, "cannot protect them, they will be more willing to grovel to me out of self-preservation."

Prowl diligently stamped down his initial horror and professional revulsion at that idea. It would do him no good to have Soundwave pick up on him thinking something like, 'that is foolishly short-sighted,' let alone something like, 'that is totally insane!'

"I see." He said instead, pleased with how unaffected his voice sounded. "I will begin planning…"

"No."

That snapped Prowl's gaze back up to the still fuming Decepticon leader. "Sir?"

A long, sharp-clawed finger was pointed at his face. "You, along with Sharpclaw and Diamondgear are going into Praxus on a final information gathering mission."

Prowls processor almost stalled. "I am not special operations, sir. Neither are Sharpclaw and Diamondgear."

"No. But you _are_ Praxian." Megatron's lip-plates quirked in a smile that was definitely _not_ pleasant. "And for this mission, that fact is far more important."

That statement made no more sense than did Megatron's claim that attacking Praxus would encourage the other neutral strongholds to declare allegiance to the Decepticons.

Even so, long vorns as an enforcer and then his time as a Decepticon and taught Prowl to be very, very careful in a situation like this, where there was spoken as well as unspoken threat in every line of his superior. He was walking a tight-wire, strung between the top floors of the Iacan Towers and he knew it.

Modulating his voice to have a very precise blend of respect, submission and confusion he spoke. "May I ask for clarification, sir?"

Megatron's sneer grew into a snarl. "You are Praxian! Therefore you belong in Praxus. No one there will even bat an optic shutter to see you striding through the streets. You would not even need to be covert."

Prowl quickly jerked a nod of understanding, though he did not agree with the reasoning. Megatron continued, clawed hand balling into a fist that could easily vent the Lord Protector's clearly growing anger on Prowl's plating. "You will go and you will confirm and then you will mark the residencies of the individuals on that datapad to ensure they are eliminated during the attack."

Prowl nodded again, refraining from pointing out that the destruction of an individual's residence did not ensure the permanent off-lining of the individual in question.

"You leave in three joors." Megatron leaned closer, his voice lowering dangerously, though he turned away, pointing briefly to his office door. "This is your opportunity to prove your loyalty, Lieutenant Prowl. Do not waste it."

Prowl recognized a dismissal when he heard it and, deeming discretion the better part of valor, did not hesitate to depart. He bowed to the Lord Protector's broad back and hastily retreated.

… … …

Three joors later saw Prowl, Diamondgear and Sharpclaw situated in a small transport ship headed toward Praxus. None of the mechs spoke, primarily because Prowl had no desire to and for the other two it was likely a mixture of the inherent trepidation frontline grunt soldiers typically had when in the presence of a member of the command staff and the fact that both were previously rather notorious black-market smugglers before the war and Prowl had been an enforcer.

Roughly three quarters of a joor after their departure, Diamond gear broke the tense silence. "Entering Praxian airspace. They are requesting identity codes and asking us to state our purpose."

Prowl nodded and transmitted the falsified codes Decepticon intelligence had procured, then triggered the communication signal. Thanks to a clever interface Soundwave had developed, Prowl knew the city official on the other side would be seeing a mech with the frame-type of an acolyte on the temple in Simfur, a neutral.

"Acolyte Nightwatch from Simfur, in route on pilgrimage to the High Crystal Gardens." The lie sat heavy on Prowl's glossa, but he smoke smoothly, without so much as a hint of his internal discomfort.

A moment later, the controller responded. "Acolyte Nightwatch, identity and codes validated. Proceed to docking area Alpha, alpha gamma 526 alpha. Welcome to Praxus."

The communication channel clicked off.

"They make this too easy." Sharpclaw spat derisively. "Idiot 'bots as dumb as these deserve whatever they get."

Diamondgear revved loudly in agreement.

Prowl said nothing; not in agreement and not to reprimand the two other Praxians in the ship with him. Instead, he simply took the ship to the assigned docking area.

Once moored, he turned t o his temporary squad-mates. "You have your orders. You know the designations of the mechs you are to locate?"

Sharpclaw nodded sharply, Diamondgear lifted a lip plate in a barely controlled sneer, "Yeah, we got it. Sir."

"Then proceed." Prowl led the procession town the ship's short boarding ramp.

The dock-master walked up to them, eyeing them nervously. "Hey, your stats say you are Simfur acolytes, not Decepticons."

"Must be a mistake. We are simply here to visit our creators." Prowl said smoothly, a part of him disgusted at how easily he could lie, though he shoved that aside for the practical necessity of completing his mission. "We were notified just earlier this orn that his spark-pulse was fading."

Diamondgear gave a solemn nod while Sharpclaw made and amazingly sincere noise of sparkfelt grief.

"Hmn." The white-optic administrator looked between the three of them. "And here I didn't think you 'Cons maintained any family ties outside your own ranks."

_No family ties at all._ Prowl corrected internally, but all he said was. "Perhaps there is a lot you don't understand."

"Yeah, I'll buy that. But don't think I'm not going to report your presence here."

Prowl nodded once and brushed past the bulkier mech. Once they were out of audio range, Diamondgear growled lowly. "Before we leave, I'm killing that half-bit."

Prowl frowned minutely to himself, but said nothing. "Progress-report every joor. If you run into any trouble, notify me immediately."

Diamondgear nodded curtly while Sharpclaw settled for a clipped "Yes, sir."

He was not going to get more than that out of either of them and pressing the issue right now would only highlight how little authority he had at the moment and make him appear weak. He nodded and gestured sharply in an indication for them to stop wasting time and move out.

… … …

Prowl had completed one of his assigned targets when a faint noise caught his attention. An out of place noise, not necessarily a frightening or threatening noise, merely something that was out of place in a location such as Praxus. But he barely had time to register it before it grew into the unmistakable thunder of Seeker engines. Squadrons of Seeker engines.

_Scrap._

Scarcely had he cataloged _that_ fact than the ground shook beneath his pedes. Screams filled his audios. His first thought was that the Autobots had gotten wind of their mission and had attacked either Diamondgear or Sharpclaw, but the deafening concussions continued, without a vent's pause. He shot his optics to the sky just in time to catch the sight of a trine of Seekers.

Decepticon Seekers.

A shrill whistle suddenly split the air, heralding an incoming missile. With a snarl, Prowl threw himself to the ground and cringed as a building less than half a klick behind him splintered, metal shards flying in all directions and a large, gaping hole replacing everything above the fifth level.

More furious than he had been in a very, very long time, Prowl activated his comm. _/Decepticon Lead Tactician Prowl to Decepticon Seekers, what is the meaning of your attack?/_

The answering whine of Starscream's voice grated across his audios. _/Prowl… we have our orders. We wouldn't want to disappoint Lord Megatron now would we?"_

_/What orders?/_ More screaming threatened to distract Prowl as he scrambled to find more suitable shelter as yet more missiles rained down from above. But he was in a residential district. Reinforced bunkers were not exactly easy to come by.

That grating voice purred sickly in his audios again. _/Hm, you are Praxian, yes? You, Diamondgear and Sharpclaw?/_ The Air commander did not give Prowl a chance to respond. _/Our orders are to make sure no Praxian makes it out alive!/_

Prowl's processor stalled as Starscream's cackle was superimposed on the sight of another building exploding into metal shrapnel and debris. He ducked reflexively as shards of metal and rebar rained down on him. Even long astroseconds after his comm. link with the Air Commander was severed, he continued to hear that laugh as more missiles and plasma discharges slammed into the ground and into buildings.

Still on his knees, he looked around as if in a daze and watched as structures splintered and were otherwise shredded before his gaze. He struggled to process what was happening around him, just what it meant that Megatron would order such an attack with three of his own still in the city. What it meant that the former Lord Protector wanted him dead simply because he was a Praxian.

He snapped back to the present as a chunk of a building slammed into his shoulder as the world literally collapsed around him.

With a barely-breathed curse, Prowl dashed for the nearest cover he could find, shutting off as many pain relays as he could to the damaged area. But this was a residential area and he was tempted to curse that fact as he took shelter in the only thing he could. He sprinted for a collection of low-slung civilian housing, their thicker walls and lower profile – at least theoretically – offering more protection than the open street.

Another explosion rocked the ground, just as he reached for the door, throwing him from his pedes. He scrambled up and thrust his non-injured shoulder against the door. It opened without fuss and he stumbled into a room that might have once been a comfortable sitting area, except one wall was entirely caved in, the ceiling hanging in tatters.

He rolled to his pedes and cast his optics around for something he could use for further protection. Anything. What he saw almost made his energon lines back up, primarily because he knew they were not the enemy. Two frames were buried halfway beneath the rubble of the wall, already gray in death. Civilians. Killed because they were Praxians and nothing more.

Prowl shuttered his optics and glanced away. Then he heard a muffled squeak and spun around. Hiding behind another doorframe was a small youngling, possibly even a sparkling.

Large blue optics blinked up at him, terror clear to see. The little one looked past Prowl at the gray frames of his creators and keened miserably, trembling.

Prowl stared, taking in the pathetic, spark-wrenching sight as the innocent youngling processed the death of his creators. The little one probably would have crawled to the gray frames if it weren't more terrified of Prowl standing between them.

Though the little one was obviously sparked by either Autobots or Autobot leaning Neutrals, all Prowl could see was innocence smashed to bits and suffering that one so young should never have to face. It had been two vorns since Megatron ordered all Sparklings to be killed on sight. Prowl had only flinched internally when the order came, but continued with his job because he himself had not been asked to take the life of any sparkling.

Nor had he said anything in protest, only hiding his disquiet at such tactics and biting his glossa to keep from getting into trouble and to save himself from the beating that would have followed.

He had kept his helm down and kept on doing his job. How many other such harmless and hurting innocent younglings had been killed in those two vorns? Was there something he _could_ have done to prevent such a slaughter?

Old, long suppressed core-Enforcer programming – or at least portions of said programming – began to reassert themselves as he stared into those pained, frightened optics. This was no longer an _Autobot_ youngling, he was just a youngling; one of the most valuable resources in existence and to be protected at all costs.

He was the future of Cybertron.

For a brief moment Prowl was sickened with what he had become, what he had helped to perpetrate. He had joined the Decepticons to help end the war quickly so as to _preserve_ the future of Cybertron but had instead been doing the exact opposite.

Then the ground shook violently beneath him again, throwing the youngling to the floor with a startled shriek and a pained gasp. The walls groaned threateningly and Prowl only had an astrosecond to act.

Unwilling that any more younglings should come to harm when he had a chance to prevent it, Prowl threw himself forward, snatching the youngling up and tucking him close as he rolled, just barely clearing the doorframe before the wall came down where the youngling had been standing.

Those large optics stared, even wider than before, at the crumbling wall, then up into Prowl's face.

Then Prowl was running again as the sound of Seeker engines filled his audios anew. But there was still nowhere to go and so he just kept moving.

They had just made it to an intersection leading to the scientific district, Prowl hoping to find some type of protection in the reinforced buildings, when a barrage of plasma blasts tore into ground in front of them, creating a veritable wall of energy and destruction.

Prowl skidded to a halt, holding the sparkling close to his chassis as the little one whistled in fear.

Suddenly the wall of the building to their right started to collapse.

There was not enough time. This time, there was no escape.

Doing the only thing he could in order to try and safeguard the precious life in his arms, Prowl curled his frame around the much smaller one. The ex-Enforcer shielded him with the only thing he had: himself.

* * *

_Well… different yes? Good? Not? Please let me know one way or another. _


	2. Surrender

_Thank you everyone for the positive response to this story. I hope it continues to live up to your expectations. Don't expect me to make this easy on Prowl though. :)_

_For those who have expressed concerns that Prowl wasn't very Decepticon-ish in that last chapter, that was not an oversight. I view Prowl as a basically upright (if somewhat stiff-collared) individual and that he would have been drawn to the Decepticons primarily for logical and 'reasonable' causes, **not** because he necessarily agreed with their tactics and moral code. Like everyone who accepts the philosophy that the ends justify the means, Prowl's morality was subjugated for practicality and logic… Praxus might be seen his wake-up call, the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back._

_Yeah, okay, enough of that. On with the story. Please enjoy._

* * *

Prowl's systems booted up slowly, the first thing coming to his attention was the absolute lack of light. Following quickly on the heels of that was searing pain that radiated from his right shoulder and right leg. Then came awareness of clogged intakes and weight pressing in from above. He probably would have willingly sunk back into unconsciousness if his ringing audios had not picked up the timid squeaks and clicks of the tiny sparkling still clinging to his chassis.

No, he could not let himself slip into stasis-lock. He had to keep online for the youngling's sake.

When he moved, the rubble shifted, sliding to the ground in loud crashes. He winced as debris caught at his doorwings and belatedly shut off the remaining neural circuits in the sensitive extremities. The pain lessened dramatically. Enough so he could think with a clear processor again.

It took nearly a joor, but Prowl was finally able to work his way free of the rubble that had tried to entomb him and the gray and blue sparkling.

When he did, he wished he had not.

He straightened slowly, looking around with stunned despair. Where magnificent buildings had once reached for the sky, broken husks now stabbed shattered metal haphazardly into the smoke and ash-filled air. Graceful sky-bridges were but a memory, the pristine streets now unrecognizable. The scents of burning metal and seared energon filled the air with the acrid stench of death.

Praxus was gone, reduced to a jagged, wrecked plain: a wretched mockery of its grandeur.

Prowl slowly turned in a circle, taking in the fate of the city that had always been his home.

"_No Praxian makes it out alive…"_

Starscream's laughter mocked Prowl again, scorning the thousands of innocent lives cut short. And Prowl realized just how wrong he had been. Megatron was not interested in ending the war, of sparing innocent lives. No mech could condone let alone order something like this unless violence, chaos and destruction were his only goals.

Unbidden, his battle computer started spinning out calculations and probabilities and Prowl knew. Megatron had to be stopped. If Cybertron was to be saved, if his home world had even a chance of surviving, Megatron had to be stopped.

"You, Decepticreep. Freeze!"

The gruff command was accompanied by the familiar and unmistakable sound of weapons powering up. He had missed their approach because of a combination of distraction and damage to his sensors.

Prowl froze as he processed this new development. They were clearly not Decepticon. Now that he focused on the limited data he was able to eek out of his sensory wings he could tell he was surrounded. Keeping his uninjured arm wrapped around the youngling he spoke clearly.

"Do not fire. I am holding a sparkling."

A moment passed as the team of blue-optic mechs closed in around him. He was about to see if the Autobots were really that different than Megatron's troops after all. Would they risk killing a sparkling just for the chance to take out an enemy? Would they allow a thirst for revenge over the fall of Praxus to lead them to a disregard for innocent life?

If so, then they were no different than the Decepticons and he would not go down without a fight.

If, however, they proved to value the lives of the innocent…

"Hold your fire, mechs. He speaks the truth." Prowl blinked in surprise, his gaze drawn to the large black mech who had spoken.

He recognized the mech in question as the Autobots' Weapons Specialist, one derisively referred to as a walking cannon among the Decepticons: Ironhide. It was a small shock to hear _that_ mech order restraint in firing at an enemy.

Ironhide walked forward, weapons still armed, to stand in front of Prowl. "Hand over the youngling peacefully, Decepticon, and we'll let you live."

Recovering from his initial bout of surprise, Prowl regarded the larger, bulkier mech with enforced coolness. "My continued existence is not at issue here. What will you do with him once I hand him over?"

Ironhide snorted, fists clenching in clear irritation. "What does it matter to you, 'Con? You have orders to kill every sparkling you find."

Prowl's doorwings twitched in a minute wince and when he spoke again, his voice was noticeably more subdued. "Unfortunately that is true. Nevertheless, if you wish my cooperation, you must indulge me."

Perhaps it was his imagination, but Ironhide's optics widened slightly, then narrowed. After a moment he spoke, his words slow and measured. "We will do what any _decent_ mech would: Find a guardian/caretaker and try to keep him as safe as possible."

Prowl ignored the other mech's stress on the word 'decent' as if to insinuate that he, by virtue of being a Decepticon, would not know anything about decency. In light of what had been done to Praxus, Prowl was inclined to agree with the generality of that sentiment. Instead, he carefully evaluated the mech before him.

Ironhide was known to be among the most trigger-happy mech among the Autobots. And, while it was true those oversized cannons were still armed, his blue optics were shrewd and kept a constant awareness of the youngling. Despite intentionally avoiding any indication of weakness, Ironhide was truly more concerned about the little-one's wellbeing than just scoring another Decepticon kill.

Prowl felt his frame relax, though he did not outwardly move. Even if they killed him as soon as they had the sparkling, he was confident the youngling would be well cared for.

Coming to a decision, Prowl nodded. "I believe you."

Blue optics widened and then deepened in shock as Prowl held the young orphan out toward the black Autobot. Hesitating only a moment, Ironhide reached forward. By then his optics had narrowed again in suspicion. The youngling, however, was not happy. He whistled, shrilling loudly and frantically, reaching for Prowl and struggling vainly to get away from the strange mech holding him.

Prowl had saved him and this stranger was taking him away.

Prowl's spark lurched, and he allowed his doorwings to shift in a way that told the sparkling to remain calm – offering the only reassurance he could to the frightened little spark.

Ironhide clearly did not miss the interaction. Nor was he sure what to make of it. Unless…

"And who is this youngling to you, 'Con?" Not that he expected a straight answer, his expression said as much.

Seeing no reason to mislead the Autobots, Prowl stated the truth simply. "He is an orphaned sparkling I found while attempting to take shelter when the attack began."

A susurration of surprise rippled through the soldiers surrounding Prowl, but he kept his optics on Ironhide. The black weapons specialist only looked incredulous, holding the sparkling protectively.

"You just expect us to believe you saved him outta the goodness of your spark?"

Prowl arched an optic ridge. "The goodness or lack of goodness in my spark has nothing to do with it. Younglings are the future of our race."

"Whoa. He must have taken a hit to the processor. That's core programming speaking." One of the other Autobots breathed, but Prowl could not identify whom as he kept his focus on Ironhide, knowing his life hinged on the larger mech's decision.

Prowl said nothing, shifting his gaze to the orphaned sparkling. If he was to be killed by these 'bots, he wanted his last thought to be a reminder of why he had allowed it to happen. He knew that without the youngling in his custody he had no guarantee they would not just simply end him. Of course, he also knew that without the sparkling he could defend himself without risk to an innocent life.

But the tactician suddenly found he was not sure he wanted to.

It was not that he wanted to die, but that he simply did not feel like struggling to survive. The sparkling would be safe. It was obvious Megatron had deemed him nothing but collateral damage and that was only if the warlord did not actively want him dead. The cause he had devoted himself to for the last six vorns – to end the war quickly – was for naught. He was cast to the cyberwolves, intentionally targeted for off-lining by his own leader: the Lord Protector of Cybertron. What was the point? What was the point in fighting any more?

Even as these thoughts rumbled through his processor, Prowl kept his spinal struts stiff, his gaze locked with the Autobot in front of him.

"What is your designation, Decepticon?" The weapons specialist demanded at last.

Prowl hesitated, realizing only then that they did not know who he was by sight or spark signature. He knew what kind of treatment higher ranking soldiers received at enemy hands; a very thorough interrogation being only part of that treatment. But then he realized it likely did not matter as there was a 97.89% probability his true identity would be discovered at some point if he were taken into custody.

Ultimately, it came back to what his main goal had been since the war had started: to do what ever he could to facilitate a rapid resolution to the conflict because _that_ was what was best for Cybertron.

Prowl knew that Megatron was at least 68.32% likely to continue using tactics like what had destroyed Praxus. He knew Megatron would continue killing younglings and other noncombatants, sparklessly slaughtering innocents without concern to the long-term consequences: the very extinction of their race.

For Cybertron to survive, Megatron must be stopped. That meant the Lord Protector had to be defeated. And the Autobots were the only ones even attempting to accomplish that end. _That_ was what mattered, not his own comfort or even his own life.

He was no fool. Prowl knew that his intimate knowledge of the Decepticons would aid the Autobots toward that end. His skills and tactical prowess could also help in that regard, but he knew that was unlikely to ever happen as they had no reason to trust or even desire his assistance considering the devastation he had been responsible for.

No, the only thing he could realistically hope for was to give them every bit of intelligence he had to give and trust them to use it as they were best able. He also knew they would not believe him if he just volunteered the information.

The familiar burn of renewed purpose flared through his chassis, steeling him for what was doubtless about to come.

Still not taking his optics off of Ironhide, he spoke, knowing his words would seal his fate. "My designation is Prowl."

They might not have recognized him by sight, but they clearly recognized his designation. All of the Autobots surrounding him suddenly aimed their weapons at him once more, the air filling with their increasing pitch as they whirred to full power.

Prowl did not flinch, did not show weakness or even a hint of the fear that briefly threatened to overcome his general apathy over his personal future.

"And just what is the Lead Decepticon Tactician doing in the ruins of Praxus?" Ironhide drawled darkly.

"I was on a mission." Prowl said simply. "A mission that is now superfluous."

The sneer Ironhide gave him was far from friendly and was filled with dangerous promise. "Intelligence and Special Ops is going to _enjoy_ getting their hands on _you_, 'Con."

Prowl dragged in a new intake through his vents. He spoke softly, as much to himself as to those around him. "I have no doubt."

"Take him!"

Prowl tensed as they others moved in, though he did not move. He did not so much as twitch, let alone fight back, as his legs were knocked out from under him. He did not cry out as he crashed to the ground. He simply let himself be subdued without protest. His arms were roughly secured with stasis cuffs, the energy from the binders arching into the wiring of his arms, rendering them numb and paralyzed. Nor did he make a sound as rough hands physically disconnected his communications and weapons by efficiently cutting the wires controlling them. He winced, grimacing against the new discomforts, but that was all.

He knew, from his long experience before the war as a former Enforcer, how procedures like an arrest went. Therefore, he was not surprised when his subspace was manually accessed. It was not a pleasant experience, as the subspace pullers were an internal system and the armor of his lower arms had to be pried away to get at it.

True, he had cut neural and pain relays during the attack, but the pain that was exerted through his pressure grid was enough to make him grunt, forcing him to subdue a pained yell that wanted to find voice.

Once everything in his subspace was confiscated, the controls were disabled just like his weapons had been.

Only then was he hauled to his pedes.

The position his arms were being held in aggravated his injured shoulder, but he bore it stoically. He was aware Ironhide was looking him over carefully, a satisfied smirk lighting his optics. Prowl's gaze, however, was drawn to the youngling still in the weapons specialist's grasp.

The gray and blue youngling was whimpering piteously, struggling weakly in Ironhide's grip, his big blue optics locked on Prowl with open worry.

Prowl felt his spark lurch and, as distressing as his current situation and outlook were, he forced his expression and doorwings to convey that he was unharmed and to silently reassure and provide encouragement to calm down. Looking like he was not ready to believe the reassurance, the sparkling nonetheless obeyed the gentle command to calm. It was unlikely any of the other Autobots caught their silent exchange.

Prowl was roughly pushed forward and the search party continued to scour the wreckage of a once beautiful city. At each collapsed building or new search grid – anywhere they would be stationary for any length of time – Prowl was commanded to kneel, which he did without protest. Ironhide was his constant guard, standing nearby to supervise the rescue efforts. Most of the time however it was only recovery of the dead, mangled frames of innocent neutrals.

The more this continued, the more Prowl felt disgust for his own faction deepen and the higher he calculated the likelihood the Autobots would hold him personally accountable for it. He had not played a part in _this_ massacre, but he was far from innocent.

He had once disdained violence, but now he was an architect of brutality. Perhaps not to the degree he now witnessed around him, but he had been responsible for the deaths of many. He knew, deep in his spark, as each new grayed-out frame was uncovered, that he would not blame any Autobot who held him in contempt.

In many ways he had been isolated, insulated from the grim horrors of war, in his role in the Decepticon's head quarters. He had never truly had to face the reality his strategies forced on others. But now each new frame uncovered felt like a piece of himself sent to the smelter.

One time, however, there was something different. A spark signature was detected… along with a faction ID. It was one of theirs. Ironhide put the sparkling on the ground with a gentle but firm command not to wander off and hurried to lend his considerable size and strength to help shift debris in order to reach his wounded comrade.

Of course, as soon as Ironhide was gone the small youngling darted over to Prowl, pressing against his thigh, trilling softly the whole while. Prowl let his engine purr soothingly, a technique he had had to learn to deal with frightened younglings in tough situations as an Enforcer. The little mech relaxed slightly, allowing Prowl to focus back on the rescue efforts.

As the injured Autobot was pulled free of the wreckage and placed carefully on a stretcher, Prowl recognized him as Smokescreen. He released a concerned vent. Smokescreen, formerly a diversionary tactician under Prowl's command in Praxus' Enforcer Corps before the war, was the Autobots' Lead Tactician. The white and gray Praxian had been recruited by the Autobots specifically to help them counter Prowl once he had joined the Decepticons.

Smokescreen had been able to help them. But Prowl knew Smokescreen and had, in fact, been his mentor when the younger tactician had first joined the precinct.

Prowl scanned the now injured mech and was relieved that his spark signature was strong. Smokescreen might not have been a match for him in the strategic and tactical planning arena. With Prowl out of the picture however, Smokescreen should be able to give the Autobots more of an advantage. He could only hope it would be enough.

Still, Smokescreen's strength was defensive planning and diversionary strategy. He was not programmed for offensive planning and his offensive tactics reflected that fact. Defense never won a war. That was the Autobots' greatest weakness when it came to tactical planning. Perhaps Prowl could teach him… but that was a silly notion and Prowl knew that. He was a Decepticon and it was likely Smokescreen had taken it personally when his mentor and commander had joined the Decepticons.

It was highly unlikely Smokescreen would be anything but hostile toward him.

He snorted softly through his olfactory vents. That was assuming he was given the opportunity to work with Smokescreen at all. He was a prisoner. The chances of him seeing anything outside of a prison cell were minimal at best.

The youngling's whimper brought Prowl's attention back to the moment an astroscecond before a faint tremble in the ground heralded Ironhide's return. He looked up into angry optics and flinched internally, even if he did nothing of the sort externally.

"Little one…" Ironhide's rumbling voice sounded suddenly.

But the sparkling chirped again, shaking his helm before scrabbling over Prowl's frame. Prowl managed to bite back a cry of pain as the youngling inadvertently used a damaged strut to climb up and hide behind his shoulder plating. Even so, his vents had to cycle faster to cool his frame as stressed systems struggled to deal with the added insults to the established injury.

Ironhide's optics lit with an expression Prowl could not read as the massive black mech considered him. Prowl averted his gaze slightly, not wanting his captor to think he was challenging him, especially not with the sparkling clinging to his frame.

Then some of the tension left the large warrior. "Well, well. It appears he prefers you."

"So it would seem." Prowl agreed quietly, wondering what the infamous Autobot would do next.

Ironhide leaned closer. "Do anything to hurt him and you will live just long enough to regret it. Traumatize him at all and you will _wish_ for the Unmaker to take you."

Prowl felt a tremor work down his frame at the low, dangerous growl in the other mech's voice. Ironhide was capable of violence, he knew that. And he doubted he would be believed if he tried to assure him he had no intention of harming the little one. So Prowl simply nodded, not deeming a futile argument worth the effort.

"Understood." He whispered.

With that, Ironhide gestured him to his feet and the search continued.

It did not take long for the other Autobots to take notice of the youngling's new perch. Their responses were mixed, some taking great delight in the irony of a Decepticon 'sparkling killer' being made to act as a transport for a sparkling. Others shared the same concerns as Ironhide had for the Sparkling's safety.

His mask of neutrality firmly in place, Prowl ignored the taunts and barbs and respectfully acknowledged the warnings and threats. He tried not to let himself grow weary from the mistrust and fear; knowing from where it stemmed and could not honestly fault them. He was their captive and thus he knew certain things came as a natural consequence of that state. There was nothing he could do about the matter and so endeavored to endure it as stoically as possible.

By the time they reached the transports taking the rescuers and survivors to Iacon, Prowl overheard one mech say, all of the Autobots were blatantly aware of just who had been captured. The looks cast his direction ranged the gambit from heated and angry to fearful and timid. Prowl did his best to appear unaffected, keeping his gaze slightly lowered.

The youngling, however, put up a fuss when the field medic tried to pry him off Prowl's armor. Prowl fell to one knee with a howl of pain as desperate little hands had pulled on already damaged wiring and armor causing unexpected, white-hot fire to lance through his shoulder and doorwings. He would have tried to offer some encouragement to the youngling, but for the moment was quite unable to speak.

Thankfully, said medic was inspired enough to offer an energon treat to the little one. Though the youngster accepted the treat with the greediness that bespoke great need, he kept worried optics on Prowl, who was still on one knee with vents heaving as he struggled to regain control.

The medic's attempts to calm the blue and gray sparkling did nothing to quiet his whimpers as he was carried to the ship that would take him and a group of injured survivors to the Autobot base.

Prowl slowly became aware of the taunts and jeers he was receiving as the fire in his arm slowly diminished to a more tolerable level. Though said taunts varied in degree of animosity and barely controlled glee at his plight, they could be easily summarized by one of the lower ranking warriors whom Prowl could not identify by faceplate.

"Imagine that. The mighty Decepticon Tactician brought to his knees by a sparkling. That's irony of the best kind." A hearty laugh and then, "I bet that hurts right in the pistons."

In general the Autobots took great delight in the fact a sparkling – whom everyone took the opportunity to remind him Decepticons had orders to kill on sight – had gained a form of recompense. Of course, Prowl had no doubt that, as Lead Decepticon Tactician, he was being blamed for that horrific policy which Megatron had instituted. Likely it was also assumed he was behind the attack that destroyed Praxus.

If that was the case, he could not blame them for the hostility they felt and demonstrated for his person. He shared it himself, though for the one actually behind the heinous acts. He knew they would not believe him on his word alone and so he said nothing, allowing the verbal abuse to continue.

He was pushed up the boarding ramp by Ironhide, but was then stopped by an equally large chartreuse and black hand. "Not so fast, 'Hide."

Prowl looked up from where he had had his optics plastered on the ground to see none other than the Autobot CMO. Just then a basic level scan flashed across his armor.

"Hmph. Painful as pit, I'm sure. But nothing critical. He can wait till the other survivors have been seen to." The infamous medic moved away to one of the medical evacuation transports to see to the most gravely injured.

With a soft snort of air through his intakes, Ironhide prodded Prowl up the ramp again. Prowl silently followed the directions he was given, painfully aware he did not have the little youngling's presence to help mitigate any overzealous impulses his more impertinent captors might have.

Even as dull as Prowl sometimes was when it came to interpersonal interactions, even he could tell their animosity had only grown as the search had revealed more dead Cybertronians than live ones waiting for rescue. In fact, only a handful of Praxians had survived at all.

The little one Prowl had saved, another little sparkling – younger than the gray and blue one and with black and yellow paint – Smokescreen and a total of five others, all neutral. A total of nine 'bots survived the destruction of a city that had housed millions.

It was processor numbing.

He was now a member of an endangered species. Just trying to process the incredible loss made Prowl's present circumstances little more than a processor ache.

It crystallized the newfound purpose in Prowl's spark. Megatron _had_ to be stopped. No matter what it took. No matter what he had to endure to make it happen or what he had to do. Prowl had failed to do anything to mitigate the warlord's increasing megalomaniac tactics and now it had come to this. Could he have stopped it? Could he have prevented it from getting to this point if he had done something earlier in the war?

He did not know. He was but one mech. But if he was ever given the opportunity to do _anything_ toward that end again, he would take it no matter how small or insignificant that chance might be.

He was pushed onto a seat and moments later felt it magnetize, locking him to it. Soon the holding bay of the military transport vessel was filled with Autobot soldiers. It was tight and Prowl was grateful he had been placed against a bulkhead in that least his already damaged doorwing was not jostled.

Before long the ship launched into the air, its hull groaning as it fought against gravity. Prowl was on his way to Iacan, into the spark of Autobot power on Cybertron.

At one time, he had anticipated planning a final assault on Iacon to end the war. Now, though he was going to Iacon, it was as the conquered not the conqueror.

* * *

_Alright, another chapter… and another cliff hanger. I'm mean, I know. Sorry… sort of. Anyway, please review. And if you find grammatical mistakes please don't just tell me that they are there, at least give me some hint as to where they are so that I can attempt to fix them. I'm looking forward to hearing what you think!_


	3. Interrogation

_I know I did not get to respond to all the reviews so far, but please rest assured I read every one of them and they have been a great source of encouragement. My thanks to everyone who has taken the time to review!_

_Warning (depending on how sensitive you are): Like the title might suggest, it **is** an interrogation scene. _

* * *

Prowl was among the last to disembark, escorted down the boarding ramp by Ironhide and another he did not know. The light from the hanger-bay they had landed in spilled across the open hatchway with a warmth that would have been inviting had it not heralded his arrival in the spark of Autobot power.

Long ingrained and well-tuned instincts for self-preservation had Prowl casting his optics in a brief survey of his new surroundings as he stepped out of the ship. When he hesitated an astrosecond too long, he was pushed forward.

Normally he could depend on his doorwings to continue taking in pertinent data, but the same combination of damaged and disconnected sensory feeds made the panels almost useless in that regard. Thus he was limited to that brief snatch of visual data as he refocused on where he was going.

The hanger was five levels high, with docking arms located at intervals that indicated it could accommodate ships several times larger than the transport that had carried him here. It was very bright, a sharp contrast to Decepticon facilities, which generally favored a more subdued lighting scheme.

A none to gentle shove to his right shoulder to indicate the way he was supposed to go made him hiss in pain even as he complied. Lifting his gaze to look in the direction he was now being taken, Prowl was tempted to feel dread.

Standing in a loose formation were three mechs and Prowl recognized all of them. Jazz, infamous for his many and varied skills and abilities, was known to all Decepticons along with the warning of 'extremely dangerous, engage at your own risk.' Next to the silver minibot was Ratchet, still covered in dust and grime from Praxus and looking irritable and fatigued at the same time. On the saboteur's other side was Optimus Prime himself, his posture that of stately power which he carried with a calm confidence that Megatron could never pull off.

Perhaps he should have felt flattered, but all Prowl could manage was alarm. His last vorns serving under Megatron ensured he did nothing to show any evidence of that alarm however. Even so, he was almost painfully aware of the intense scrutiny with which he was being studied even long before his forward progress was checked at what Ironhide must have considered a 'safe' distance from the Prime.

It was a long moment before anyone spoke, Prowl remained silent during that time as three sets of cerulean optics continued to examine him.

Finally Optimus broke the silence, his deep baritone voice rumbling over Prowl's armor with calm authority that left no question as to who was in charge. "So, you are Prowl, the infamous and mysterious Decepticon Head Tactician?"

Prowl nodded. "I am."

Optimus' optics hardened and Prowl managed not to shiver as the Prime continued. "I have heard much about you. Little of it good."

_From Smokescreen, no doubt._ Prowl could think of no response to the Prime's statement so he kept silent, jerking a short nod to indicate he had heard what had been said.

"Now you are our prisoner – a prisoner of war." Optimus continued, his voice carrying the finality of a death sentence. It was not new information, but for some reason hearing it from Optimus made Prowl want to shiver. "You will be interrogated. After that, depending on our judgment of your behavior, we will decide what to do with you."

There was no room for argument. Prowl nodded stiffly. Not that there was any doubt in Prowl's processor what would become of him. While it might be true that Autobots did not summarily execute POWs like the Decepticons often did, that did not mean they would not keep him in forced stasis.

Either way, his future was out of his hands. He had accepted that fact when he had handed the gray and blue sparkling to Ironhide back in the wreckage that had been Praxus. That did not mean it stung his pride any less.

He averted his gaze as the Prime continued to consider him, as if waiting for him to protest. Then the Autobot leader looked at Jazz, who had been watching him carefully from behind a visor that masked his expression.

Though Jazz was not looking at his commander, he obviously felt Optimus' attention shift to him. He spoke to Ironhide without taking his gaze off Prowl. "Take him to Cell Two-Beta."

"You got it." Ironhide wasted no time in pushing Prowl toward the nearest door.

Prowl went without protest or struggle though he wanted to snap at the larger mech for man-handling him so roughly. However, he knew better than to do something so foolish, especially now that there was virtually nothing that would prevent the trigger-happy, tank of a warrior from retaliating if provoked. He also doubted that, in light of the destruction of Praxus and the role they clearly presumed he had played in it, that it would take much to provoke the mech.

He was taken to a lift, aware of the cold looks cast his way by the countless Autobots they passed. It always amazed Prowl how quickly news spread on military bases; something shared between Decepticon and Autobot installations.

The lift took them down and, while Prowl had no regular way of determining how far down they traveled, estimating based on the amount of time it took for them to reach their intended level it was at least ten levels down.

The lift doors finally opened and he recognized the uniformly distinct nature of detention areas. Even if this level was just as well lit as the hanger had been, it was almost overwhelmingly oppressive in a sterile, unassuming manner.

Halfway down the hall Prowl was directed into an open door. Stepping inside, he glanced around and was unsurprised there was precious little to actually look at. Interestingly, it was clearly an interrogation cell, not simply a holding cell.

He was directed to a centralized stool and then was magnetically bound to it once he sat. Just as on the ship, with his arms still held by the stasis cuffs on his wrists, he was virtually immobile.

The other mech who had helped escort Prowl shook his helm. "At least he'll be useful. Come on, let's go 'Hide."

Ironhide stepped back, toward the exit, looking at Prowl with glinting optics. "Enjoy your stay, 'Con."

Then they were gone, leaving Prowl alone. He released a vent, but did nothing more, aware he was doubtlessly being monitored. At least being taken to an interrogation cell indicated they did not want to waste time.

That was something at least.

… … …

And Prowl _was_ left alone. If he stilled his vents and internal systems the near absolute silence of the cell-block was overpowering, giving evidence that he was either alone in the entire section or that the room was sound-proofed. Either way, it was unsettling. Even so, Prowl was not about to let something so trivial get to him.

It was at least half an orn before any sound broke through the miasma of haunting echoes caused by the sounds of his own systems bouncing off the metal of his cell; footsteps, heralding a visitor.

The lock on the door released with an audible beep an astrosecond before the door itself slid aside revealing none other than Jazz himself.

Again, Prowl decided he should probably feel flattered to warrant the attention of the head of Autobot Intelligence and Special Operations himself. However, all he felt was a stab of true fright. He knew the rumors revolving around the mech now striding almost casually toward him. He knew Jazz's reputation in the field of interrogations.

Then his optics shifted from that fathomless visor to the faintly glowing cube of energon in the minibot's clawed grip. Noticing the change of Prowl's focus, Jazz lifted it slightly as if in display, but he did not offer it to Prowl. Nor did he drink it himself. Instead he bent down to carefully place it on the ground, out of the way, before closing on Prowl.

In his sitting position, Prowl was just slightly shorter than the Autobot who was clearly to be his interrogator.

Jazz almost swaggered as he approached. It was the gait of one who knew he had nearly absolute power over another. "Normally they'd have a medic on call for this, but with your faction deciding to destroy Praxus an' all they're busy with more important things than making sure some 'Con's processor doesn't get a little sore. And, with you bein' so high up the 'Con food chain, there ain't no telling what traps old Soundwave might have put in that sweet little head of yours. That means, I'm the best 'Bot for the job. Ain't ya lucky."

It made sense, not that that was any comfort for Prowl. He kept his voice calm and inflectionless thanks to long vorns of practice. "What do you want?"

Jazz made an irritated gesture with one hand as he proceeded to circle Prowl like a predator. "See, old Megs has done something horrible. We were caught off guard. I need anything in that processor of yours that can help us keep that from happening again. And I aim to get what I need."

Prowl considered the saboteur's words, aware those shrewd optics were watching him carefully, calculatingly.

He knew Jazz's reputation and thus knew it was only a matter of time before the Autobot succeeded in prying everything he wanted out of his processor. However, the silver minibot's stated goals were parallel with Prowl's own; to get the information he had into Autobot hands in order to facilitate bringing an end to the madness Megatron had descended into.

That was what was best for Cybertron, his own comfort and pride were non-issues. At least that was how he convinced himself to do what he was about to do.

He looked up at Jazz, meeting that fierce blue gaze through the visor that masked it. "Agreed."

Not particularly in the mood to have more plating peeled back, Prowl slid aside the panel covering the primary data port imbedded in the armor on his right chassis.

He got the distinct impression that Jazz was staring at him even though nothing changed in the other 'bot's outward expression. Then, slowly, Jazz shook his helm. "It ain't that easy. I'm going after _everything_ you know about the 'Cons."

Prowl's doorwings dropped a hair before he could stop them. He spoke quietly. "A deep processor scan?"

Jazz's helm canted to the side ever so slightly, intrigued and surprised at Prowl's reaction. Doubtless it was because Prowl had not demonstrated the anger and defiance he was probably used to.

"Yes." The saboteur confirmed.

Prowl's doorwings drooped a little lower and he shuttered his optics. He forcibly reminded himself of his main goal. If he could ignore the pricks to his ethical subroutines at Megatron's sparkless orders to kill sparklings and purposefully attack neutrals – all for the greater goal of ending the war quickly – he could ignore infringements on his personal comfort and privacy for the same goal.

He understood that if the Autobots had access to what he knew it could help them confront Megatron effectively. That was the whole reason he had surrendered in the first place. If this was how they chose to retrieve that information, so be it. He knew they would not believe him if he just volunteered it and, even if he did, he would likely find himself right back here, facing a processor scan to confirm whatever he volunteered.

It was part of the price he paid for being captured alive.

He unshuttered his optics and looked back up at Jazz. "Understood."

Jazz hesitated for a moment, obviously surprised. Then he seemed to regain himself and, pulling his own cord out he stepped closer. One of the minibot's clawed hands was braced on his injured shoulder in a manner that gave the smaller mech some leverage should Prowl attempt to try any physical attack or defense.

Both were quite impossible at this juncture and Prowl was not inclined to waste precious energon attempting either. That did not keep him from stiffening as Jazz's cable slid home and the weight of the notorious mech's personality suddenly fell against his firewalls like a hammer.

Prowl winced, but he had already resigned himself to what was coming.

… … …

Jazz was not sure what to expect when he synched with the seemingly emotionless Decepticon tactician. An orderliness that bordered on obsessive compulsive, noticeable even behind firewalls, was not it. The massive, truly impressive firewalls that greeted him, however, _were_ expected even if not to the degree he now faced. He poked around the edges of the mental barrier briefly, looking for a weakness he could exploit to shorten this aspect of the hack. There was _nothing_. That in itself was an additional surprise.

However, as he prepared to start picking his way through the dangerous coding, the walls dissolved... all on their own.

Startled, Jazz looked down at the 'Con in surprise, only to see Prowl's optics were averted and shuttered, his expression – almost unreadable – took on meaning now that Jazz was in his head. He was worried and ashamed.

Worried Jazz was used to. Decepticons always worried when in his interrogation cell. Shame however… well, most 'Cons seemed utterly devoid of the emotion.

Intrigued as he was, Jazz kept his hand on the door-winger's shoulder in case he was stupid enough to try something.

Not wanting to waste time, knowing just how dangerous this type of work could be, Jazz made no more effort to further analyze the Praxian's emotional state. Instead, he launched into his hunt. He struck quickly and efficiently, not bothering to be gentle as he pried into every file, every stream of data he encountered.

It was absurdly easy, really; the Decepticon's processor was so orderly, everything he wanted all but had a virtual, definable label identifying it. He felt not a spark of guilt as he took full advantage of the open-door the tactician was giving him.

Beneath his hand, Prowl grunted, grimacing in discomfort, but the mech did nothing else. He raised no defenses and made no effort to stop Jazz, protect the information or even blunt the discomfort he was clearly experiencing.

Silent acquiescence was _not_ something Jazz was used to

At first, he was puzzled by this. Was the mech incapable of defending his own mind? But that made little sense, nor did it fit the available evidence. The firewalls that had greeted him initially were beyond what most mechs could erect. Nor was there any evidence of Soundwave's tampering. That alone was so rare among Decepticons as to be an oddity. Even the lowest ranking grunt had some evidence of Soundwave's attention. He _had_ found scattered lines of codes that looked like it _could_ have originated from that creepy telepath, but they were already broken and completely impotent. It looked like Prowl's self-defense mechanisms were continuing to work on that coding, implying that the implantation of said coding was relatively recent.

It was a rare mech indeed who could defeat Soundwave's mental attacks and intrusions. And yet there was no evidence of that strength now. Why?

That was when Jazz realized the Praxian Decepticon was intentionally _letting_ him have free access, letting him have whatever he wanted.

Jazz paused, stunned at the very idea. The possibility was nearly processor blowing in its implications. His sudden stillness, in turn, caused Prowl to slowly unshutter his optics.

A long moment of silence passed between them.

Finally Prowl broke it, intoning in a perfectly flat voice, without any inflection. "You are not done."

It was a statement, not a question. Jazz shook his head. "No."

"Then why do you stop?"

The sincere puzzlement Jazz felt accompanying the question surprised him. "I'm not stopping." He let his engine rev softly.

Doorwings fluttered ever so slightly as the tactician took in a vent of air, looking aside, clearly taking the rev as a warning. "I see."

It was said with a feeling of defeat Jazz did not understand as there had been no fight.

Almost on a whim, but trusting his hard-won instincts, Jazz moved slower when he continued his search of the Decepticon's processor. It was still uncomfortable for Prowl – that was the nature of one-sided connections like this – but even knowing what Jazz was looking for, the mech did nothing to stop the saboteur.

Still not sure why he was not meeting any resistance, Jazz decided to simply try asking. "I woulda thought a 'bot like you woulda been able ta raise a better defense than this."

Prowl grimaced again, still not looking up. "My ability to defend my mind is not at play here. I agreed to give you the information you wanted."

That, spoken with simple, straightforward resignation made Jazz stumble to a halt, staring into the bright red optics that were now gazing up at him.

"Jus' curious… what would happen if ya did try ta stop me?"

Ruby red optics continued to stare up at him calculatingly for a moment. Then, faster than even Jazz could follow, those impressive firewalls sprung back into existence. Jazz's mind was trapped in a near suffocating grip. The only way he could get out of it would be to physically unplug. But that action – from this deep in the other's processor – would leave his own segmented and fragmented… enough to require a good defrag to recover from, if not a trip to the med bay.

However, as soon as he had made that calculation, the walls were lowered again, leaving Jazz once more with unimpeded access.

It took an astrosecond, but Jazz was quick to continue his work, unwilling to waste time. Even so, he attempted to satisfy his curiosity about the enigma he was encountering. "I don't understand. If ya can do something like that, why did ya agree to let me take it like this? Why aren't ya putting up a fight?"

There was a long pause, then those intense red optics were averted as another grimace ghosted across his face. "Because you need the information I have to defeat Megatron. And it was clear this was the only way you would believe I am not misleading you."

Jazz frowned. "But if you can raise a defense like that, you could easily have created a false data net and feed me whatever false information you wished."

Suddenly Prowl was staring, no _glaring,_ at him again. "If you believe that, why do you now give me the opportunity to do exactly that?"

"Excuse me?" That was not an answer Jazz was expecting.

"I know your reputation, Autobot Jazz. I know you are wasting time right now." Bitterness filled the tactician's mind even if nothing found it's way to his voice. "You have a job to do. Why do you not just do it?"

Jazz blinked, surprised at the almost challenging tone. "Ya like the pain, then?"

Red optics flashed. "This is a one-way _hack_, Autobot. A deep processor scan. There is no way to avoid the pain inherent in such things. If it is going to happen, I would rather not drag it out."

Jazz could feel the Decepticon's powerful mind surging beneath those words and was immediately on the alert, his own defenses raised instinctively. Prowl winced as what must have felt like tiny blades stabbed into his mind as Jazz's mental defenses snapped into immediate readiness.

Jazz did not bother deactivating those subroutines as Prowl continued to glare heatedly up at him in silent challenge. "What if _I_ preferred to drag it out?"

Ruby optics flashed again and Jazz braced himself mentally, his hand tightening fractionally on the shoulder he still held, eliciting a tiny hitch in the other's vents. Then, like a switch being thrown, tension left the tactician and that intense gaze dropped.

"Very well. Do what you wish."

There was an air of resigned surrender and Jazz felt a hopelessness feather at his awareness and he realized the Decepticon truly would prefer to get this session over with, even if doing so amplified whatever discomfort he might feel in the process.

Not usually one to care what Decepticon prisoners wanted, Jazz felt oddly inclined to do as Prowl had requested and finish it quickly. There was an… earnestness in the mech that suggested he truly wanted the Autobots to have the information and a listlessness that suggested he had no hope for his personal future.

Moved with something Jazz could not quite call compassion, he nodded his own acquiescence.

"If that is what ya want." Then he picked up the speed of his assault again, moving with lightning speed. Jazz watched with a sense of increasing surrealism as Prowl grimaced, his frame shuddering under the clawed hand braced against his shoulder.

Normally Jazz would have stripped every byte of information he could find, leaving no secrets, but this time found himself ignoring truly personal files – after confirming that was all they were, of course. This was only intended to be a strictly fact-gathering interrogation and, as Prowl was clearly cooperating, felt inclined to reciprocate.

It took a few breems but Jazz could feel Prowl's growing surprise at that unexpected kindness. By the time he was finished, those red optics had been lifted back to his faceplates.

"You did not take everything." The words were said lowly but with a definite flash of surprise, before Jazz could disconnect.

"I got what I needed." Jazz assured him, reaching for his cable.

Prowl was silent for a long moment, thinking. Jazz could almost watch it happen. Then, he spoke, shaking his head slightly. "Wait."

It was the last thing Jazz would have expected.

It was a one-way connection. There were many reasons for that, number one being safety. While it was possible for a 'bot to defend his mind in ways that could be very dangerous for the interrogator, it did offer a measure of safety in that the individual being scanned could not transmit data directly to the one scanning him. All they could do was light up pathways for the other to follow. And that was exactly what Prowl chose to do in that moment.

Hesitant and wary, looking for a trap, Jazz followed the pathways Prowl illuminated. They led to a file with a relatively small data-stamp yet a rather large emotional footprint. It indicated a personal file: one he had overlooked.

Now Jazz blinked his optic shutters in surprise. Why would a Decepticon _want_ him to look at a personal file? Well, if the 'Con was going to offer…

Prepared for the worst, he unlocked the file. But there was no nasty virus waiting to scramble his processor. Instead, what he got was a brief series of statistical analysis:

_Megatron was 68.32% likely to use a strategy similar to his attack on Praxus again in the future._

_If he did so, there was a 75.91% probability it would either be Simfur or Centari Tetrax._

_If Megatron was not prevented from succeeding in such slaughters, there was a 82.35% chance he would destroy Cybertron._

There had been other statistical analysis Jazz had uncovered during his scan. Most were disturbingly accurate predictions of Autobot preparedness and ability to counter Prowl's strategies. However, none were shrouded in the deep emotional context that these were. Alarm. Anger. Despair. _Determination._

Determination to do whatever he had to do in order to keep those horrid predictions from coming to pass. But that was accompanied by a resigned acceptance that a potentially brutal interrogation at the hands of the Autobots was likely to be the only chance he would be given to meet that end.

The emotions flicked by so strongly and quickly that Jazz knew he was not intended to catch them – or at least not dwell on them. Only the statistical analysis was intended for Jazz's perusal, except that it was impossible to share the one without sharing the other.

Briefly it made Jazz wonder what other juicy tidbits he had missed in bypassing personal files. Prowl clearly read his intent and tensed in response. Jazz waited, defensive, for what the Decepticon might do.

Even after several long astroseconds nothing happened. Prowl neither attacked but nor did he try to block him from doing whatever he might want to do.

That, more than anything, made Jazz back down. For a moment he let a silent warning hang then he withdrew, disconnecting from the tactician.

"Ain't we full of surprises." He drawled, eyeing the Decepticon as he coiled his chord, returning it to its storage space.

"As are you." Prowl answered, his doorwings flicking slightly but in a stiff enough way it was obvious the Praxian was attempting to prevent the movement.

Jazz grunted noncommittally and knelt to reach for the cube of energon he had brought. He noted how Prowl eyed his movement with well-concealed suspicion and concern. Keeping his own optics on the Decepticon, Jazz took a careful, deliberate sip of the glowing liquid.

Prowl watched him the whole time, though he gave no outward indication of any thoughts at the moment.

Jazz considered him for a moment longer. "Ya could probably use some of this by now. Especially after that. Yes?"

He stepped toward Prowl again. The Praxian tensed as he approached, but when all Jazz did was move the stasis cuff from one wrist to just above his elbow joint in a way that allowed him limited use of the lower arm while still keeping him restrained, those red optics widened in obvious surprise.

"Here." Jazz put the cube in his hand.

Prowl stared at the cube for exactly three and a half astroseconds as if calculating the probability the energon was a trap. But the tactician's systems were almost critically low on energy, as Jazz had known before even heading down into the detention area.

Slowly, the white and black mech tipped the cube up to his lip-plates and drank.

Once he was finished, Jazz reclaimed the now empty cube and swiftly re-secured the Decepticon's wrists. Prowl winced minutely as the energy from the binders arced into the wiring of his arms but gave no other reaction.

Stepping back to give Prowl some breathing space, Jazz gave him a pointed look. Prowl responded as expected, giving him his complete, if surprisingly polite, attention. "This is how this is gonna work. I go make my report to the Boss-bot. In the meantime, or whenever he gets the chance, good ol' Ratchet is gonna come take a look at ya. Then he'll make his report. Then, and only then, Prime'll decide what happens next."

Prowl just stared at him.

"Got it?" He asked when Prowl's gaze remained flat.

"Yes. Thank you."

Jazz blinked again, not expecting an expression of gratitude. "For what?"

"For the energon." Prowl said flatly, but Jazz sensed there was something behind that bland neutrality even if he could not identify it yet. "For telling me what to expect."

If Prowl was nervous about what might happen to him, he did a remarkable job of hiding it. Jazz knew the mech had emotions now and knew that, with enough time and opportunity, he could learn to read the subtle clues to the mech's thoughts and feelings. It was a challenge, a puzzle that just itched at Jazz to be figured out.

He watched Prowl for several more sparkbeats then abruptly nodded, turned and left.

* * *

_I believed I warned everyone last chapter not to expect that I'll make this easy on Prowl. For those of you interested in seeing how Prowl and Smokescreen first deal with the new dynamic in their relationship, their first true interaction with each other will not be until after the next chapter. But don't worry, more Prowl and Optimus to come in the next chapter. :) Also, before anyone asks, I have not forgotten about the cute little (*cough* nameless *cough*) sparkling! He is going to be showing up again soon too... and we'll be learning his name the next time we see him... though some of you have already guessed it. *Wink*_

_Also, please note that I see nothing 'sexual' in an interrogation such as this, no more sexual than a sentient USB drive being plugged into a sentient computer. As far as this story is concerned, 'interfacing' is nothing more than a hard-line method of exchanging data. My vision is that a one-way interface is uncomfortable because it is an invasion - more of an explanation will be given later in the story. So please, everyone, keep your thoughts out of the gutter. Thank you._

_Until then, please review._


	4. Defection

_Well, this one is up earlier than I thought it would be… but I have had the flue for the last four days and I just don't like sitting on my aft not doing anything so: whenever sickness has me down, if I am at all able to focus and get my hands on the keyboard, I write. Lucky for all of you, yeah? Though I feel like I should warn you, the following has been written under the influence of a 101° degree fever and copious amounts of flu/cold medications. Read at your own risk. :)_

* * *

Ratchet was in Prime's office when Jazz reached his destination. Jazz was granted entry almost absently and sauntered in, though his processor continued to sort through his recent encounter with the notorious Decepticon prisoner currently being held in his favorite interrogation cell. The two larger mechs were watching the security feed from the detention area with acute intensity. Neither one looked at him when he walked up to join them at the monitor.

Jazz smiled but without humor. "So, you watched tha whole thing?"

"Indeed." Optimus' deep voice rumbled thoughtfully. "He seemed remarkably compliant."

Jazz nodded, stepping back as the Prime and the CMO turned from the screen to look at him. "Oh, he was. Didn't even fight me at all. And I can tell ya he would have been able to give me a one pit of a fight if he wanted to."

"Oh?" Ratchet's optic ridge quirked. "How so?"

Jazz shrugged as if it were no big deal. "I found evidence of Soundwave's attempts to meddle. He was taking them apart on his own."

Now Ratchet's optics widened, doubtlessly calculating the likelihood such a mech could exist and then the dangers to any mech attempting an interface with such a potentially dangerous individual. "He can counter Soundwave?"

"Apparently. To a degree at least."

Ratchet frowned, clearly coming to the same conclusion Jazz already had. "If that is so, then how do you know that he didn't..."

"That he wasn't doing tha same thing to me?" Jazz finished for the medic with a wave of his hand. "He wasn't. Trust me. I know."

"We do trust you." Optimus mediated as Ratchet seemed about to protest further. "What did you find?"

Jazz finally sighed a long vent of air, looking back at the screen the other two had been studying so attentively. He kept his optics on the image of the prisoner. The Decepticon did not seem to have moved more than his optic shutters. His doorwings were still stiff, splayed behind his back in a neutral posture, his spinal struts ramrod straight, gaze plastered on the ground just in front of the door to the cell.

Now that he took a moment to consider, he was able to see hints of the emotions underpinning the tactician's near absence of the typical body language expressed by Praxian frame types. He could also see the wisps of physical discomfort the Decepticon was in due to the injuries and took a moment to admire Prowl's impressive self-control.

He spoke slowly, not looking away from the monitor. "I learned everything we wanted to know about the 'Cons. As well as a lot of stuff we _needed_ to know about our own forces. It was, after all, his job to analyze our strengths and weaknesses and to exploit them… which he did very well."

He looked up at his Prime. "Now we know where at least some of their intelligence agents are, their identities, as well as all the 'Con's base locations an' security codes. I also know which of _our_ intelligence agents are compromised. And that is just the beginning."

Jazz shook his head, looking back at the monitor. "I tell ya, it was like a high-quality energon mine and he _let_ me pick it clean."

Optimus was silent for a moment, his gaze also landing on the image, considering the enigma Prowl was proving to represent. "Anything else?"

Jazz released another long intake of air. "Yeah." He turned to look at his Prime, his own optics glowing brightly behind his visor. "I think he might be willing to defect."

Optimus' optics widened this time, focusing on his Head of Special Operations. "Did he say that?"

Jazz shook his head. "Not directly, no. But the very reason he let me pick apart his processor was because he _knew_ we'd need that intel ta even have a chance of standing against Megatron in the future. He ran a few interesting statistics about what Meg's change in tactics might mean for Cybertron as a whole. It made him _determined_ to _stop_ Megatron."

"Then why did he not say anything earlier?" Optimus asked.

Jazz shrugged, nodding minutely to the screen. "I'm not a sociologist or psychiatrist, Prime. But I do know, in his processor, the only thing he was expecting was a brutal interrogation and he was _still _determined to give me what I was looking for – even if he didn't survive the experience. And I can tell ya, he lowered his firewalls for me thinking it might be the last thing he might ever be able to consciously do."

The two larger mechs stared at Jazz in disbelief. Optimus broke the look first, glancing incredulously back at the image of Prowl on the screen. Ratchet did likewise, though he was the first to break the stunned silence.

"Well, this gets more and more interesting. Is he up to my exam?"

Jazz nodded sharply. "He's expecting you."

Ratchet puffed air through his vents. "Very well. Prime, if you'll excuse me?"

Optimus' optics glowed thoughtfully. "I think I shall accompany you. Jazz?"

Jazz hesitated; he had picked up a definite, if well controlled, fear in the captured Decepticon that seemed to be directed toward him. Him or his reputation with interrogations, Jazz was not sure. Either way, he found himself hesitant to add to the stress of the situation by joining the two. Two to one, with one of those being the Prime, was going to be stressful enough.

Yes, it was true, something about the tactician was a puzzle that begged Jazz to investigate. But he knew, especially if the mech chose to accept an offer to defect, that he would get plenty of chances to investigate that puzzle. He would wait.

He let a grin tip his lip plates. "Nah. I'm gonna go check on Smokescreen and the two younglings we recovered."

… … …

Prowl lowered his gaze to the floor just in front of the door to the cell as soon as Jazz left him alone. Despite the fact that his arms were still bound by stasis cuffs and he was still magnetically bound to an interrogation stool, he had to admit that he felt better after the energon hit his tanks. He was surprised to have been given any. Decepticon prisoners were kept on survival rations and he had expected the Autobots to do the same. As his systems were not _that_ deprived yet, he had not anticipated the kindness of a full cube. He would have expected it to be laced with poison, except Jazz had taken a deliberate sip before offering it. Perhaps he had done so to allay that very concern.

Without moving more than his optic shutters, Prowl continued to process what had recently transpired.

Just as he had expected to be denied needed energon, he had also expected a much more brutal interrogation. The Autobot had not even utilized a physical assault to break his mental concentration. However, what he had anticipated the most, especially once he saw Jazz walk into his cell, had not happened. His mind was intact.

From the moment he had seen Jazz, he had dreaded the inevitable interfacial assault that would ravage his processor so thoroughly as to leave him with only tattered shreds of his mind intact.

Instead, the infamous Jazz had only taken the information – albeit every byte of data contained in his processor on the subject – that he had specified an interest in but had left his mind completely whole.

It had been very uncomfortable to say the least, leaving him with a throbbing processor ache, but that was an inescapable side effect of such an interrogation, even when done as gently as possible.

And, after his initial assault Jazz _had_ attempted to go easy, but Prowl himself had pushed him to just get it over with. Despite the pain he knew that would bring, he disliked the feeling of another mind within his own, especially in a one-way connection like that.

It was a conundrum that left him feeling somewhat off kilter, as if his gyroscopic systems were misaligned.

With a tired vent of air he intentionally turned his thoughts to the only other issue that seemed important at the moment: the little gray and blue youngling. He wondered how the sparkling was faring. He had no concern that the youngling would be mistreated, but he could not help but worry about him.

He released his heated intake, doorwings drooping ever so slightly. Only to straighten as the door opened again. Prowl looked up to see the Autobot CMO, as expected, walk in. The chartreuse medic was followed closely by the regal form of Optimus Prime.

Prowl's optics widened in surprise before he regained control, not willing to give them more of an advantage than they already had.

Without a word, Ratchet stepped forward and Prowl felt sensory energy wash over his frame in a more detailed scan than had been conducted before. Once the scan was completed, the medic moved forward, hands reaching for Prowl's damaged shoulder.

The Praxian tensed, but did not try to evade the medic, too well trained by Megatron that doing so would only garner more wrath and, accordingly, more discomfort. He half expected those hands to begin ripping and rending.

Prowl grunted as the CMO began working on the damage, the pressure on his sensory grid was distinctly painful, though not destructive. Prowl was used to suffering such repairs without pain relief and so did nothing but endure it, doing nothing that the two Autobots might have expected. He made no attempt to avoid the hands causing the increased discomfort. He made no verbal retort or angry tirade. He offered no pleas for mercy.

He just accepted what was done to him with silent resignation. Just as Jazz had described.

While Ratchet continued to work, Optimus finally broke the tense silence. "What are your expectations as to what happens now, Decepticon Prowl?"

Prowl almost winced at the title, thinking about the destruction of Praxus. "I am your prisoner. I have no other expectations."

Both Autobots blinked their optic shutters, exchanging a brief look at the calm, even statement.

Optimus Prime returned his attention to Prowl. "Jazz mentioned you had an interest in ensuring Megatron is stopped."

"If he continues down this path unchecked, the consequences for Cybertron will be devastating." Prowl stiffened as Ratchet moved to his back, immobilizing his doorwings for the repairs to the damaged one.

The Prime's gaze was unfathomable, his brilliant azure optics intense. "You understand it is difficult not to be suspicious of suddenly having the Decepticon's lead tactician show up wanting to defeat Megatron."

Prowl considered this, hiding a wince as Ratchet did something to his doorwing. "You are right to be suspicious."

"I also find it suspicious that you were at Praxus when the city was attacked." It was said blandly, but also with a hint of warning.

Prowl had the distinct impression the large blue and red mech would know if he attempted to lie even without a direct interface connection. It was a little unsettling while, at the same time, strangely reassuring.

This close to the Lord Protector's brother, Prowl would be hard pressed to call the Prime 'weak,' 'pathetic,' or 'soft-sparked' as Megatron was often wont to do. Having never met Optimus Prime in person prior to their brief encounter in the hanger when he had first arrived in Iacon, Prowl was impressed with the quiet strength and sense of purpose that radiated off the large mech.

Whatever Prowl might have anticipated, he found that it was easy to respect the Prime, though he was not entirely sure why. Or why he felt a compulsion to trust a mech who doubtlessly saw him as an enemy. It was confusing, but something told Prowl he would have to focus on the moment and figure the mystery out at a later date. If he had the opportunity.

Even so, he had learned to trust his instincts. He spoke the truth, without any real hope he would be believed. "I believe now that my presence in Praxus during the attack was intentional, based on what the Air Commander told me after the attack was launched."

A tiny frown touched the Prime's lip plates. "What did Starscream say?"

Prowl released a short vent of air, half at what he was about to say and half because the fire that had been radiating from his doorwing since the building had fallen on him suddenly disappeared. "He said it was too bad because I was Praxian and that no Praxian was to be left alive."

Bright blue optics narrowed and Prowl suddenly had to suppress a shudder. "You claim Megatron sent you into Praxus to kill you?"

"That is the most likely scenario I have been able to postulate."

Prowl watched as a rapid series of emotions flick through the Prime's optics. "If that is so, it would seem he does not value your life very highly."

Ratchet had moved on to work on Prowl's right knee joint, but Prowl was careful to keep his gaze on Optimus. He spoke softly, fighting to keep sudden bitterness out of his voice. "Sir, Megatron holds very little value for any life other than his own."

Optimus straightened almost imperceptibly and Prowl had the feeling something he had said had offended the larger mech. "Why did you become a Decepticon then?"

Prowl hesitated at that. If he had offended the Prime by simply pointing out Megatron's low value of life, how honest could he safely be? Yet as those intense blue optics continued to bore into him Prowl found he did not _want_ to lie. Not now, not again.

Besides, he doubted Ratchet was there just to patch him up. No. This was part of his interrogation and he strongly suspected that whatever he said would probably be either confirmed or refuted by yet another processor scan.

Very well, he would speak honestly. If the Prime was inclined to take out personal offense in violent retribution against the offender, then so be it. He vented air. "A prolonged war would have devastating effects on Cybertron. With the Militia and the Seekers aligning with Megatron the statistical probability indicated that he would be in a better position to win the war quickly and thus rapidly put an end to hostility, thereby preserving the existence of our race."

He looked down slightly, his gaze focusing on the Prime's flame-painted chassis, rather than his optics. "I joined the Decepticons because I knew my ability with tactical planning would even more greatly increase those odds and thereby bring an even quicker end to the conflict and thus spare as many innocents as possible."

"Megatron is not interested in sparing innocent lives." Disapointment made the Prime's voice harsh.

Prowl looked down at his lap in time to see Ratchet finish welding a cracked baring in the joint. He felt exposed in the presence of the Matrix Bearer. "That point has been made abundantly clear in a very painful manner, Prime."

"Yes. I imagine so." Prowl had expected a harsh retort for speaking so boldly, not to hear the Prime's voice soften with compassion.

He glanced up with surprise only to have the Prime snag his gaze with his own. "If you were given the opportunity to assist in putting a stop to Megatron's forces, what would you do?"

Prowl could only stare for a long moment, trying to make the question make sense. He straightened as Ratchet stood, stepping beside his leader. "You mean defect?"

Optimus nodded.

Prowl considered the Prime carefully, trying to determine if it was a sincere offer or a trap of some kind. However, strength along with sincerity continued to radiate off the towering Autobot. It was a compelling combination. He spoke cautiously. "That is a very dangerous offer for you to make, Prime. If I were still loyal to Megatron…"

"What if you were given the choice?" Optimus cut him off.

Prowl muted his vocalizer and took a moment to seriously consider the question, finding he _wanted_ to believe the Prime. He still was not sure it was safe to trust the implied offer the Prime had just made. He knew they would never fully trust him: how could they?

But he had already decided to take any opportunity he might have to defeat Megatron. He had expected his interrogation to be the extent of that opportunity. He spoke hesitantly.

"If you can prove to your satisfaction that I am no threat to you or the Autobot cause, then I will assist in whatever capacity you allow."

The Prime kept his gaze, nodding. "It will not be easy, proving to us you are honest and sincere in changing your allegiance. Some may never trust you completely. Your existence among us will probably not be pleasant, at least at first."

It was a blunt statement, but not one Prowl could logically argue with. He nodded.

Taking that as a cue, Ratchet stepped toward him again. "Very well. I will also be conducting a deep processor scan. However, whereas Jazz was specifically looking for information about Decepticons, I will be examining you personally: your character, ethics and motivations. Unlike Jazz's scan, you do have a choice in whether or not you submit to this one. However, failure to submit will be seen as a refusal to defect and you will be treated accordingly. The choice is yours."

Prowl tensed again, though it was only visible in the slight stiffening of his doorwings. So, this would be the scan that would leave him completely without secrets. It was humiliating to consider voluntarily submitting to such a thing. It was clear to him however that if he wanted to help defeat Megatron he had no other option.

But could he blame them?

If he were honest with himself, the answer was no.

Keeping his primary goal foremost in his processor he focused again on the CMO. "Such a precaution is only logical."

Ratchet blinked, as if taken slightly off guard. "You are agreeing to undergo this deep processor scan of your own free will?"

It was said with the tenor and cadence of something being stated for a legal record. Prowl answered in a similarly formal manner. "Yes, I am."

Ratchet nodded, looking up at his leader. Optimus indicated he should continue and Prowl hesitated just a moment as Ratchet turned back to him. Then, with an astrosecond's additional hesitation, he slid the panel covering his dataport aside.

He agreed to do this, after all.

The medic connected, synching with his systems. Prowl's firewalls came up automatically. Resolutely, the tactician lowered them again, catching a hint of the CMO's surprise in the process.

"Jazz was not exaggerating. Those are impressive firewalls."

Prowl averted his gaze, the feeling of another mind inside his making his tanks churn slightly. "A necessity when dealing with Soundwave and, for someone in my position, should I ever be captured by enemies."

Ratchet eyed him. "Of course."

Ratchet, apparently, was not one for smalltalk as he got right down to business after that. Thankfully, he wasted no time in launching into his scan. First he searched Prowl's recent memories, his mission to Praxus and the assault itself. Every emotion and thought was examined and scrutinized.

Once that was accomplished, Ratchet plunged deeper, examining his motivations for joining the Decepticons, his internal reactions to Megatron's increasingly violent and insane orders. Every thought, every intention he dared not let Soundwave catch wind of were expertly reviewed, studied and noted.

Prowl kept his gaze lowered as his spark was all but laid bare before the Autobot CMO's relentless probe. It was, indeed, just as humiliating as he had anticipated and made the dull ache in his processor grow into a splitting, pounding pain. But he did not resist. Nor did he complain. He simply endured because he had no other option. He had agreed to this.

Then it was over. To his surprise, as Ratchet pulled his cable out of the port, he inserted a pain chip.

Relief spread through Prowl's systems, easing the physical aches as well as reducing the pain in his processor to something almost negligible.

Still burning in his humiliation however, Prowl did not meet the medic's gaze. "Thank you, sir."

Ratchet nodded and looked up at his leader. Prowl knew they were communicating with each other, so he silently waited for the Prime's verdict.

After a long moment Optimus stepped forward, the CMO stepping back slightly. "Based on the report Ratchet just made, I am prepared to move forward with integrating you into our forces, on a probationary status."

Prowl looked up, surprised and saw there was more that the towering blue and red mech had yet to say. "What are the conditions?"

Prime spoke slowly, as if gauging Prowl's response. "We have never had a Decepticon of your rank defect before, so the conditions we place on you will have to be appropriately more severe."

Prowl nodded. He had expected nothing less. Actually, he had not even expected to be given this opportunity at all.

The Prime continued. "You will wear a tracking device until you are past the second stage of your probation. You will also submit to the installation of tracer coding that will have a predetermined life-span and will alert security and Ratchet, as well as knock you into stasis, if you plot against us. Also, for the length of your probation, you will submit to processor scans by either Intelligence or Medical should we deem it necessary."

Prowl nodded his understanding in the slight pause and the larger mech continued. "To begin with, your movements will be highly restricted, but those restrictions will be reduced as trust is earned."

Ratchet took up the explanation. "Probationary periods have three stages each of indeterminate length. The first stage is assessment and training as it is necessary. This is to see how well you will adapt to our protocols and regulations. It also gives us a chance to see where you would best integrate.

"The second stage is to send you on routine patrol and scouting missions. While that might not be where you ultimately end up, it is always good to get an idea of what is going on on the ground.

"The third stage is where we place you in the function where you would be the best fit. At the most junior level, of course. This stage is the longest and, to be perfectly blunt, there have been some who have never even made it to this stage, others who never make it past it."

Prowl nodded again, impressed with the precautions and lengths the Autobots were willing to take. Quickly, he considered his options. He had no way of knowing how the process they were going to put him through differed for other, lower ranking Decepticon defectors, but knowing the Decepticons as he did, he could not blame them for the precautions. As the Prime had warned, it did not sound pleasant, but at least it would allow him to still serve Cybertron, to try and preserve its future. To defeat the former Lord Protector.

The two Autobots gave him time to think and actually seemed pleased that he was taking the time to truly consider all the implications associated with his limited set of options.

At length, Prowl looked up, meeting the Prime's gaze. "Your terms are agreed to. With two modifications."

Optimus' optics widened with surprise while Ratchet seemed incised. "You are in no position to make demands!" He snapped.

Prowl warily glanced at the medic before looking back up at the Prime. "First, leave whatever tracking device you utilize in place until the conclusion of my entire probationary period."

He saw their surprise and hastened to explain. "If I were a potential sleeper agent or spy, the third stage is the logical time to act. Therefore leaving the tracking module on until you are totally satisfied with my loyalty and performance is the safest option for you. Second, leave the tracer coding in place. If I am a sleeper, it might be needed far beyond the expected end of the probationary period."

It was not that he thought he might be a sleeper agent, but the point of Soundwave's manipulation, was that sleeper agents had no idea they were sleeper agents. The only real _fear_ he had in accepting the Autobots' offer was that, despite his own carefully crafted programs somehow Soundwave had managed to get something implanted.

Both of the Autobots seemed stunned, if their blank stares were any indication. The Prime recovered first, nodding slightly. "Very well. I will take your recommendations into consideration. For now, Ratchet will take you to the med bay for the necessary installations."

It was not an agreement, but it was clearly as close as he would get. Prowl nodded. "Understood sir."

Ratchet acknowledged his leader's slight gesture and a moment later the magnetic lock restraining Prowl to the chair released. Then the medic reached for the stasis cuffs binding his wrists. They were deactivated and removed.

Prowl resisted the urge to swing his arms to limber them up and settled for simply easing them into a more natural position. Seeing that neither Autobot reacted negatively to his motions, he stood slowly. His frame protested, hydraulics hissing, having started to seize from the long period of inactivity as lubricants settled in his joints.

All of this was observed in silence. Then, finally, Ratchet motioned Prowl out the door of the interrogation cell. "Well, let's stop wasting time. Come with me."

* * *

_Well, I hope that made as much sense and flowed as well in real life as it did in my fevered and medicated mind. Once I'm back to normal, I'll revisit it if needed and make any changes necessary, if any. Let me know, either way. (ie: please leave a review.)_


	5. Guardian

_Happy Thanksgiving, every one!_

* * *

Ratchet kept a sensor on the shorter, door-winged mech as they made their way to the med bay. The Autobots they passed in the halls would either skirt around them in obvious fear or turn heated glares on the soon to be ex-Decepticon. Either way, there was no missing the fact that his reception was less than welcoming.

For his part, Prowl seemed impassive to the negative attention. At least outwardly. His time in the tactician's head had given Ratchet some insight into the mech's thoughts. Enough to be able to see the tell-tale signs of the stress the hostility was causing.

And yet it stopped there. No anger, no resentment, no bitterness, no hatred. Just stress.

When the reinforced doors to the med bay hissed open, they were greeted by the noise only excited yet exhausted sparklings could generate. Smokescreen and the handful of other damaged survivors of the massacre were still in the medical ward along with the two sparklings in their number. Said sparklings were currently playing together at Jazz's pedes as the minibot spoke quietly with Smokescreen.

It was unclear who noticed their entry first, but awareness of their arrival spread like wildfire. All activity in the med bay ground to a complete halt once its occupants saw the black and white, red-optic mech who followed the CMO. Fear, anger and alarm all shot through the various mechs present.

Behind him, Prowl's doorwings shifted slightly, uneasy.

But the silence stretched unbroken. Until one of the sparklings, the larger one, squealed joyfully and launched himself away from Jazz to zip across the length of the med bay in a flash of gray and blue. He was heedless of the various cries of alarm from the adults present.

Without pause, the sparkling jumped onto Prowl's leg and scrambled up his frame to press himself over Prowl's spark.

Caught off guard by the excited – and blatantly happy – greeting, Prowl nonetheless placed one arm under the sparkling and the other around his back.

The sight of a rumored nearly emotionless Decepticon tactician _cuddling_ an Autobot sparkling – any sparkling really – was so incongruous that none of the other 'Bots said anything for a long moment.

Ratchet alone was not in _complete_ shock, having seen Prowl's reactions to the sparkling from his scan. "Well. That was unexpected."

Prowl looked up from the sparkling he was holding to give the medic what he had to term a wry expression.

"I found him in the wreckage of a partially destroyed building when the attack first began." Prowl reminded the medic. "Apparently I made a good impression on him."

First Aid, who had been standing by the door when they had entered spoke. "I'd say. It's amazing really. It's like he was waiting for you. You are the first one he's seemed comfortable with. As strange as that may be."

First Aid's optics widened, as if he could not believe he had said that and Ratchet's apprentice cringed when Prowl's red optics flicked to him. Surprisingly, Prowl's gaze was averted quickly as soon as he saw the young medic's reaction, almost as if the tactician was trying to avoid setting First Aid on edge.

When the tactician spoke, he did so very quietly confirming Ratchet's assumption. "Yes. As strange as it may be."

By then, the sparkling was clicking, settling into recharge. Ratchet chuckled slightly at the brief expression of shock that flickered across the former Decepticon's face when Prowl made the realization the youngling was recharging in his arms.

Only to frown with concern when Smokescreen spoke from where he sat on his berth. "Well. I'll be. That's the first time he's gone into recharge since we got here."

Prowl blinked, looking up at the other tactician, clearly taking in his counterpart's condition and the energon drip that was still connected to his systems and the various fresh weld marks that crisscrossed his frame. His optics traveled over the monitors hooked up to smokescreen, a concerned frown flicking briefly over his faceplates.

Smokescreen cocked an optic ridge, having also observed Prowl's assessment. "So, Prowl. We meet again."

Prowl took a tiny step toward the other tactician but stopped when Jazz made a subtly defensive move. "Indeed, Smokescreen. I regret it is in such a manner as this."

Smokescreen sneered, his optics blazing. "What? Aren't you proud to be a Decepticon?"

Prowl flinched ever so slightly at the anger and bitterness in those words, knowing he was the cause. No one missed the undertones of unspeakable loss in his former apprentice's voice. Prowl took a few cautious steps closer to the other tactician. Ratchet stiffened, ready to defend the injured Smokescreen. So did every other able-bodied mech. Prowl froze, taking in their reactions.

Displays of that nature were unknown among the Decepticon ranks.

Despite the growing tension, Prowl took another wary step toward the injured Autobot, speaking lowly. "It has been a long time since I have been proud of my choice, Autobot Tactician Smokescreen."

The flick of the other Praxian's doorwings indicated his scornful disbelief was there for everyone to see.

Prowl allowed his own doorwings to move subtly in a way that hinted at the shame Ratchet had detected during his scan of Prowl's processors for having had any part in assisting Megatron, even though the assault on Praxus had been done completely behind his back.

The tension whipped between the two tacticians, hinting at the depth of the history between them. Prowl's doorwings drooped slightly. "I assure you I had no role in the attack that destroyed Praxus, nor do I condone such a tactic."

Smokescreen huffed angrily, ice-blue optics glinting dangerously. Ratchet had the distinct impression that if his physical condition had not prohibited the action, Smokescreen probably would have attacked Prowl.

Prowl looked aside before drawing himself up formally and returning his now neutral gaze back to the other tactician. "Autobot Tactician Smokescreen, the future of Cybertron depends on the Autobots' ability to counter these new tactics being used by Megatron, and the Autobots rely on you. If at any time you believe my abilities or knowledge would be of assistance towards that end, they are at your disposal."

Smokescreen blinked his optic shutters in surprise, then narrowed them suspiciously. "You are our _prisoner_. If we want anything in your head, we can just take it."

Ratchet and Jazz reacted minutely to that; it was not an _entirely_ accurate statement…unless Prowl violated his parole. All optics, however, settled almost nervously on the Decepticon, waiting for his reaction to the open threat.

Prowl, still holding the now soundly recharging sparkling, simply bowed his head in formal acknowledgement of the other tactician's observation, as if it were an accepted and undisputed fact. "Nevertheless, the offer remains."

An uneasy silence settled over the med bay after that. Ratchet cleared his vents, gesturing for Prowl to follow into a more private treatment room and was not truly surprised when the Decepticon tactician complied without fuss.

"What's the plan, Doc-bot?" Jazz asked, leaving Smokescreen's side to sidle up next to Prowl in the medic's wake.

"He has accepted Prime's offer to defect." Ratchet informed the saboteur and anyone else within audio range. "I will be installing the tracer programs and the tracking device."

Jazz frowned, his optics dropping to the still clicking bundle of gray and blue in Prowl's arms. "What about lil' Blue there?"

Ratchet was about to answer, but Prowl beat him to it, looking down at Jazz without any outward indication as to whether he felt uncomfortable being that close to his former interrogator. "'Blue?"

Jazz blinked. "Oh, yeah. Bluestreak. Tha lil' one's designation. He seems ta like it at least."

Prowl shifted his gaze to the sparkling in his arms, the hard light in his optics softening a hair. "I see. If he is content like this, I will continue to hold him."

Jazz blinked, his vents hitching for just an astrosecond as those ruby optics flicked up to meet his.

Ratchet's gruff voice interrupted the moment. "I cannot offline you for the procedures if you are holding him."

Prowl looked up at the medic thoughtfully. Only because Jazz was still looking at him, was he able to see a hint of trepidation flicker behind those impassive faceplates. "Offlining is required for those procedures?"

Ratchet stared at him for a moment, seeing the same thing Jazz had. "Required? No. But not very pleasant if online."

Prowl's gaze was inscrutable, though the tension racing through his frame was almost palpable, at least now that Ratchet knew to look for it. "I will leave it to your medical judgment as to what is best for… Bluestreak. If this is his first recharge since the assault on Praxus however, I have no wish to disturb it. I believe I can survive your installations while online."

Something about Prowl's demeanor made Ratchet think the Decepticon would _prefer_ to be online even if in agony than offline; as if he did not fully trust that he would be onlined afterward. A glance at Jazz confirmed the special ops agent had seen the same thing.

"Very well. Come." Ratchet pointed to a berth and watched as Prowl walked to it feeling a hint of something he could almost call sympathy for the Praxian. Then he looked down at Jazz, as the silver minibot made to follow. "What do you want, Jazz?"

Jazz jerked to a halt, flicking a clawed hand towards Prowl. "If he's gonna be conscious for this, I'm gonna be here to back ya up. Jus' in case."

Ratchet drew in a sharp intake of air, his armor flaring in indignation that Jazz would make such a unanimous decision without consulting him. He was about to give the smaller mech a piece of his processor but then caught the slight jerk of Prowl's head: a reluctant nod of acceptance.

Ratchet deflated, releasing the vent. "Fine." He spun away from Jazz and stalked to Prowl, aware Jazz followed closely only to take up a position out of the way, but close enough to jump in if necessary.

Prowl watched Ratchet with well-controlled wariness as the medic retrieved a tracking module. He held it up briefly for Prowl to see clearly before gesturing for his arm. "I will place the tracking device first. Give me your right arm and…"

"I would suggest placing it under the dorsal plating between my doorwings." Prowl said quickly but without inflection, lifting his optics from the module to Ratchet's faceplates. "That is not a spot I can reach on my own."

Jazz and Ratchet exchanged a look of shock. Then they looked back at Prowl in unison. Then Jazz smirked slightly, reminded of watching Prowl lighting up the pathways to that personal file. "I dunno Ratch. He's got a point. Why _do_ we put those things where tha one wearin' 'em can just take 'em off?"

Ratchet huffed air through his vents. "Very well. You haven't turned your pain receptors back on, have you?"

Prowl shook his head. "Not yet."

"Keep it that way." With a barely audible grumble Ratchet circled the berth to stand behind Prowl.

For his part, Prowl was careful not to jostle the recharging Bluestreak as the indicated armor plating was carefully removed. Even with his pain sensors offline, the pressure the procedure inflicted on the local pressure grids was exceedingly uncomfortable. It took a supreme act of will and self control not to transmit that discomfort in anyway to the peaceful, blissfully ignorant youngling in his arms.

Aside from not wanting to do so for his own reasons, Prowl clearly remembered Ironhide's snarled warning back in Praxus about traumatizing Bluestreak in any way. He was not about to test the weapon's specialist's resolve.

Thankfully, Ratchet made quick work of welding the device in place and then re-attaching the armor plate. Prowl could feel the minute mass of the tracker and was quietly pleased. In that specific location, as sensitive as it was, he would never grow so used to it he would forget about its presence: there would always be a tiny prick; a reminder.

No matter how much the Autobots might someday come to trust him – as unlikely as that seemed at the moment – so long as that tracking device remained he would be reminded how fragile trust could be. It would help him not to forget how he ended up in this place to begin with, in that he had arrogantly trusted only in his calculations and cold logic without taking anything else into consideration.

Finally the armor plate was completely re-attached and Prowl shifted his doorwings, helping the piece settle more firmly in place.

Ratchet circled back in front of him, crossing his arms over his chassis. "Well. You handled that well."

Prowl's doorwings twitched again. "One learns to live with physical discomfort when living under Megatron's command."

"I don't doubt." Ratchet held up a data hub. "Now, the tracer…"

Prowl refused to cringe, but he looked warily at the medic as he gently interrupted him. "I will need to scan it and mark it as an accepted program modification or my firewalls and malware programs will eventually dismantle it."

Any pleasantness in the medic's persona evaporated, replaced almost instantly with cold, hard suspicion. "Why would I believe that?"

Prowl responded to the question asked, not the barely muted hostility in the CMO's tone. "I wrote the programs to counter Soundwave's code manipulation. Any coding changes that I have not specifically approved are automatically targeted and overwritten."

"They are effective too." Jazz piped up, much to Ratchet's obvious annoyance. "Not that I trust you, or anything." He added quickly as Prowl shot him a surprised glance.

Prowl eyed the saboteur appraisingly for a long moment, glanced at the clearly irritated and short-tempered medic and then released a vent. He looked at the peacefully clicking sparkling in his arms and then slowly raised his gaze back to Jazz. "You are, of course, welcome to oversee the process."

It was said with a grimace the tactician was not quite able to suppress. Jazz was taken aback by the suggestion, but Ratchet was looking thoughtful. "You know, actually, that isn't a bad idea."

Jazz shifted his gaze to the medic as Prowl fought to prevent himself from groaning. He watched as Ratchet stepped away to rummage through a drawer for several astroseconds before returning with an interfacial hub. It was the type that allowed medics to safely access the processor of a mech who had been infected with a nasty virus. 'Safely' being a relative term. What it really did was allow more than one medic to connect to a single patient so that each medic could watch the digital back-side of their compatriots when attempting to manage a dangerous virus.

Prowl managed to contain any reaction he might have had as the device was set on the berth next to his right thigh. He looked up at the medic who had just deposited it and released another vent at the expectant look in Ratchet's bright blue optics.

Breaking off his gaze when Ratchet cocked an optic ridge in silent challenge, Prowl was forcibly reminded of his place. In reality, he had no rights here. He was a prisoner, at liberty only at the Autobot's sufferance.

Resignedly, the tactician reached for the appropriate cable and slid the tip into his own dataport. After a moment's hesitation, as if they were surprised at his actions, Ratchet and Jazz did likewise.

Prowl grimaced as the combined force of a one-way connection with two minds pressed against him. He shuttered his optics to shut out extra sensory data to a suddenly taxed processor. He did not so much drop his firewalls as he created a narrow opening through them, lighting up the appropriate pathways to the area he needed Ratchet to put the new coding.

After a brief moment, the CMO complied.

Prowl quickly scanned the code, learning exactly how it worked and what it would do under what circumstances.

His optics shot up to look at Ratchet. "This is still programmed to self-deactivate in three vorns."

Ratchet nodded once. "We are Autobots. We do not keep individuals loyal through threats and intimidation."

Prowl shook his helm minutely. "This is not about intimidation. It is about appropriate safety precautions. If you removed the automatic self-deactivation you can still manually remove the coding at a later date."

Ratchet's optics widened, though Jazz's expression remained masked behind his visor. Ratchet spoke slowly. "You would be taking a major chance agreeing to something like that."

Prowl canted his helm to the side ever so slightly. "You are taking a major chance in attempting to integrate me into your forces. It is an exchange I am willing to make."

Prowl was able to feel Ratchet's grudging acceptance of the compromised through the interface connection, though he could also detect his reluctance. Deeming that was permission enough, Prowl set to work modifying the tracer codes as necessary.

With the rapid efficiency by which he would later become known, Prowl deftly completed his work, all under the watchful 'gazes' of Ratchet and Jazz. When he was satisfied, Prowl presented the completed coding to his two monitors for approval.

Jazz and Ratchet exchanged another look.

Ratchet spoke first. "Impressive. Very well. All we have left is to integrate the new version and give your systems time to adjust. I still don't like doing something like this…"

Prowl acted before either Autobot could, taking the new codes and integrating them into his command-systems. His processor ached from a combination of the forced integration and the double interface connection, even so he recognized their stunned disbelief at what he had just done.

Prowl blinked his optic shutters, not understanding the reaction. "You indicated discomfort with installing a tracer program without a definite deactivation date. I simply saved you the ethical conflict."

Ratchet snarled something unintelligible about wanabes and 'bots being too smart for their own good. "Fragging _idiot_! Now I have to see if you royally screwed yourself."

Without warning, Ratchet dove deeper into Prowl's processor, double checking the code integrity all through Prowl's primary and secondary command cortexes. He did not bother being gentle about it.

Jazz laughed, though with a touch of pained sympathy as Prowl cringed visibly under the medic's irate mental assault. "You asked for that, mech. He doesn't like it when us non-medical types do his job for him."

Prowl winced. "So I noticed. A mistake I…" flinch, "…shall not…" wince, "…make again." Cringe.

With another angry snarl, Ratchet unplugged from the interface hub – an action Jazz quickly mirrored – before yanking it out of Prowl's port. Prowl hid whatever minor discomfort that action caused but then a yellow-green hand grabbed his throat in a manner that was eerily similar to Megatron's

Ratchet leaned in close, cerulean optics blazing. "Don't you ever, _ever_ do something so slagged-helmed and bolt-processored again. Understand me?"

Prowl was rigid, but he was careful to hold Bluestreak secure to his chassis, not wanting to risk further traumatizing the youngling. The mask he had learned to wear over his emotions while under Megatron's command fell back into place with practiced ease.

"Understood, medic."

Ratchet blinked, taking a half step back, suddenly understanding the aloof, impassive air that the red-optic Praxian affected so easily. It seemed to be a conditioned response when he felt threatened.

With a short huff of air, Ratchet forced his armor to settle over his frame. "Good. Now. Your weapons will remain locked down until we feel you are ready to go on patrol."

Prowl nodded and then stiffened as Ratchet reached for the controls at the base of his neck. Even so, he did not dare move as Ratchet began fiddling with his communication systems, re-enabling the ex-enforcer's short-range comms.

Prowl's optic ridge quirked in silent question as Ratchet lowered his hand. Ratchet smiled slightly. "You have short range communications, good for use within the base only. Long range communications will likewise not be released until you are sent on missions."

Prowl acknowledged the information, looking down at Bluestreak again, speaking softly. "And attempting to access either before the block is removed is enough to trigger the tracer code."

Ratchet was about to say something, but Ironhide wandered in before he could, gesturing back to the main portion of the med bay. "They said the kid clung to the 'Con. I see they weren't exaggerating."

Prowl simply nodded, shifting in a way that hinted at increasing uneasiness. Ratchet likewise did not say anything he simply shrugged when Ironhide looked at him for an explanation.

"Hmph." Ironhide looked back at the youngling in question. "Well, I doubt he'll let us take him away from the mech again. Seems he wants the new resident 'Con as his guardian."

Prowl's doorwings flicked sharply if minutely in harshly muted panic. His optics flashed. "I am hardly an appropriate candidate for being Bluestreak's guardian."

"Yeah, no joke." Ironhide released another irritated vent. "But the little one refused everyone else."

Prowl went absolutely still, eyeing the massive weapon's specialist. Ratchet thought he saw a flash of alarm in those ruby optics but it was suppressed just as quickly, replaced by a mask of blandness. "What do you plan to do about it?"

Ironhide looked at Ratchet, then glanced at Jazz. Both looked in tandem at Ratchet. Ratchet thought for a moment, considering Prowl again. The Decepticon was very aware of their interactions but was clearly choosing not to interject and was instead watching the three of them warily.

After a long moment Ratchet shrugged with one shoulder. Ironhide lifted an optic ridge but Ratchet shook his helm sharply at the silent question. Then Jazz and Ironhide were in a minor staring contest of their own.

Then Jazz huffed. His engine growled and he pushed past the larger mech to stand right in front of Prowl. He made a rather intimidating sight, optics flashing behind his visor. "You will be coming with me. Your quarters will be next to mine and you will clear any and all activities through me. At least for now. I will be overseeing your guardianship of Bluestreak as well. Understood?"

Prowl nodded carefully, though he was clearly leery of having an overseer who seemed to resent the job. Ratchet almost smirked; knowing Jazz well enough to know the silver minibot was using that as a facade to hide how happy he was.

Jazz pointed a clawed finger in Prowl's faceplate. He opened his mouth to speak, then snapped his lip plates closed. That claw rotated until Jazz's palm was upward and then flicked in a summoning gesture.

Without waiting for a response, Jazz spun on his heel and stalked away. Prowl's optics shuttered in surprise, but he quickly slid from the berth and followed closely, Bluestreak still held tightly in his arms.

"For now the only place you are allowed to be without escort is your quarters. Later, when I feel comfortable with it, I might include the Rec. Room, the observatory deck and so on. Eventually, but not yet." Jazz glanced over his shoulder to see Prowl following obediently. "Clear?"

Prowl jerked a nod but Jazz had already turned back the direction he was going and did not see.

They walked in silence after that, winding their way through the base. Due to the late hour, there were few others who observed their progress. Those who did could not help but double-take at the remarkably unusual sight the three of them made. When they reached the higher ranking housing level, there were no observers.

Truly, it made more sense to house him in a more secure level, such as the level reserved for higher ranking 'Bots. More security on the level. Fewer bystanders to complicate matters. He was close at hand if needed by Intelligence. Security's headquarters were only two and a half corridors away from where the potential threat would be housed. It was perfect, really.

Jazz grinned as he stopped in front of one door, turning to look at Prowl. Those doorwings flicked upward when the ex-enforcer saw his expression. "This is the door to my quarters." He pointed to the door opposite it. "This is yours."

He turned just enough to punch in the key code to Prowl's quarters and the doors hissed open. He gestured to the now open portal. "You leave this room without an escort and you are breaking your probation."

Prowl looked slowly from the now open doorway to consider Jazz. Those ruby optics were difficult to read. After several astroseconds, when Jazz was becoming more convinced the Decepticon defector was about to object, Prowl somehow managed to stand even straighter.

Prowl nodded formally. "Understood."

Without another word or even hint of hesitation, Prowl stepped into the empty room, letting the door slide shut behind him.

… … …

Prowl stood in absolute silence, surrounded in complete blackness as the door closed, shuting out the light from the corridor. Like most Cybertronians, Prowl was not overly troubled by the lack of visual data, especially with his doorwings fully operational again. He waited, but to his surprise he never heard the sound of the door's locking mechanism. He stayed completely motionless, waiting for an entire breem, but nothing happened. He was left alone.

Releasing a vent he sent the signal to brighten the lights.

He looked around, taking in the small chamber visually at last. It was sparse, consisting of a recharge berth, a table with one chair and a basic computer terminal. However, a scan of the terminal proved that power flow was disconnected.

He drew in another intake of air. He was not in the brig, but this chamber was basically another cell, just without that designation. He had exchanged one for another in addition to a tracking module and a program that would snap him into stasis if he even _thought_ the wrong thing.

And yet it was more than he had expected the last time he had held Bluestreak. Not much more, but with the possibility of more. He was mildly surprised Jazz had not locked him in.

A test of some kind, no doubt.

With the soft whine of hydraulics, Prowl settled onto the berth, looking at the sparkling still clinging to his chassis, clicking peacefully. Bluestreak was so innocent, dependant and yet full of potential. It was processor blowing – and just a little tank churching – that he would be entrusted with his care. Even if he was going to be watched closely.

He thought briefly about Smokescreen's threat. How likely was it to be carried out? He honestly was not sure.

For the first time in a very long time, even by Cybertronian standards, Prowl could not calculate with any degree of certainty what the next orn would bring. It was a distinctly uncomfortable position for him to be in. Knowing he had no way of changing that fact at the moment was likewise disconcerting.

He peered at the softly clicking form of the blue and gray sparkling and almost smiled. The Autobots did not trust him, even after two deep processor scans and the installation of a tracking device and a tracer program. He had no way of knowing exactly what it might take for him to gain their trust, if it were even possible. But this small, helpless, innocent sparkling trusted him.

Whatever the next orn might bring, Prowl was determined to do what was right by Bluestreak. He did not want the little one's trust to be in vain. He knew part of that meant being a decent role model, especially if Bluestreak viewed him as a guardian, simply because mimicry was a major vehicle of how younglings learned. It was a heavy responsibility, and not one Prowl was confident he was worthy of.

But the logical centers of his processors reminded him it was a waste of time to worry about possibilities he had no conceivable way of predicting. So he focused instead on his immediate circumstances.

He was still a prisoner, albeit with limited parole. He had been entrusted with the care of a sparkling. While not critical, his tanks were low on energon and likely to remain low until he could pass his probationary period. His systems were stressed and, thanks to the loss of Praxus, his emotional centers were…

He cut off that line of thought. Not knowing what was to happen to him the next orn, it was only wise to conserve energy, which meant avoiding emotional extremes. Doubting Bluestreak would allow himself to be removed from his chassis as of yet, Prowl simply reclined on his berth, keeping one arm wrapped around the limpet like youngling. Settling down as comfortably as possible, Prowl did the only thing that was logical to do in his situation.

Setting his sensors to wake him with the slightest disturbance, Prowl powered down and triggered his own recharge cycle.

* * *

_This chapter was not exactly everything I wanted it to be. I have reworked it more times than I want to admit and still can't quite put a finger on exactly **what** is bugging me about it. Anyway, I finally decided to just post it and move on. _

_I know it's a holiday and everything, but please leave a review. _


	6. Upgrade

A little more than two joors after he powered down, Prowl was brought online suddenly, his sensors having detected a disturbance. Was there a threat?

His optics onlined instantly, hands tightening around Bluestreak protectively. He almost reached for his rifle, only to remember at the last astrosecond that his subspace pullers remained disconnected and that attempting to access his weapons would slap him into stasis. He huffed, irritated, looking for the danger.

It was Jazz. The saboteur was standing at the foot of his berth, staring at him, his visor a blazing sapphire blue in the otherwise pitch-black chamber. Prowl's engine revved lowly at the intrusion.

"Stand down." Jazz's voice was clipped, commanding but not overtly arrogant. "You did not lock the door."

Prowl frowned, easing himself into an upright position, releasing his hold on Bluestreak so as not to risk disturbing him. "I could say the same. Why are you here, Jazz?"

Illuminated only by the light of his visor, the silver minibot's lip plates frowned slightly. "Ta check on lil' Blue. Ta check on ya. Ta remind ya that ya don't have any privacy here. Ta remind ya of your place."

"I see." Prowl wanted to tell Jazz to get lost, that he had done what he wanted and that his presence was no longer required. But he did not dare. His position among the Autobots was far too tenuous and he suspected Jazz was intentionally pointing that out.

Then Jazz produced a small cube of energon and placed it on the table. "This is for Blue' when he wakes." He produced a datapad. "_This_ is for you. Have it finished within three joors, 'cause that's when Ironhide will be here to start your evaluations."

Prowl watched his former interrogator closely. "Understood."

Jazz flashed him a smile that was more warning than friendly and sauntered out. Prowl watched him, releasing a vent of air as the door closed. Then he looked at the cube of energon sitting on the table. He hesitated a moment and then stood, he grabbed the datapad and activated it. While it was clear he was not to be given full rations of energon, he was pleased to see they were not shorting Bluestreak.

He walked to the far wall, using the movement to work out the remaining kinks in his joints, and started perusing the files on the datapad. They consisted entirely of Autobot protocols and regulations. There were over eight hundred regulations on the pad. He released a sigh of air through his vents, knowing it would be impossible for him to process the entirety of the datapad's information in the time allotted. But he would do his best and hope punishment for failure would not be too arduous.

Thankfully, he found the reading interesting, though he could not help but make note of holes in some of the procedures. He tagged what he found, along with noting several recommended ways of solving the noted short-comings as well as several calculated probable ramifications for each recommendation.

Thankfully, the same tactical computer and processor set up that allowed for him to manage battles and troops on several fronts simultaneously, allowed him to process the data quickly, even if he was making recommendations as he went. Therefore, he was almost a third of the way through the files when the sensation of being watched brought his optics up to the sparkling.

The tiny smile that barely touched the corner of his lip plates was unstoppable. "Hello. Bluestreak, I presume?" The little helm bobbed affirmatively. "We have not been properly introduced. I am Prowl."

Prowl stood, placing the datapad on the table as he walked closer to the sparkling. Bluestreak whirr-clicked happily and reached up to touch Prowl's hand in greeting.

Prowl blinked. "You understand what I am saying?"

There was a hesitance in the mostly gray youngling, then his helm bobbed in another nod. Prowl blinked again. "Have you had standard language datapacks downloaded yet?"

Big blue optics stared, his head cocked quizzically, and Prowl realized that was a 'no.'

Nodding, Prowl reached for the cube of energon Jazz had left and handed it to Bluestreak. The youngling smiled and lifted it, downing half of it in one gulp. Then, young optics widened and he pulled it away from his lip plates, staring down into it.

There was only a small amount of the glowing energy left, but he slowly lifted it up to Prowl.

Prowl stared dumbly at the cube, then at Bluestreak. "You do not want it?"

Bluestreak hesitated, looking at the cube. He pointed to it, then pointed to Prowl and offered it to him again.

Prowl blinked, understanding, but staring a moment before he actually responded, so caught off guard was he. Slowly he shook his helm. "Thank you, Bluestreak, but that energon is for you…" It was on the tip of his glossa to lie and say he had already had his, but the sparkling trusted him for some reason and he was loath to do anything to break that trust. It had been so long since anyone had trusted him, longer still since he had been able to trust anyone else.

Trust was, after all, a rare commodity among Decepticons: one that was likely to get a 'bot killed.

In looking at the earnest optics that stared up at him with unabashed trust and open concern, Prowl knew he could not lie. He would not, could not, do anything to break the little youngling's trust. Before he was consciously aware of moving, Prowl found himself kneeling in front of the sparkling.

He spoke quietly. "Bluestreak, that energon is yours. I am sure I will get my own energon in a little while."

Bluestreak put a tentative hand on Prowl's chassis and pat it gently, his large optics questioning. Prowl released a soft vent of heated air. How to explain?

"Bluestreak, I am going to be very honest with you… our home was destroyed by a an army that the 'bots at this base are fighting. Everyone here wants the best for you, we want to keep you safe."

Bluestreak looked to the side, his faceplates furrowed in thought. Prowl gave him time to process the information. The optics that were turned back to him were sad, swimming in lubricant. Then he patted Prowl's chassis again, questioning. _What about you?_ Was unspoken.

"I want you to be safe as well, and I will do everything in my ability to ensure that you are." Prowl assured.

Doorwings perked a little at the reassurance, but Bluestreak shook his helm and pat Prowl's chassis again and the tactician realized he had misunderstood.

He released another vent resignedly. "I am not trusted here, Bluestreak. That is why no one is pleased that you want me to be your guardian."

Big blue optics widened even further as Bluestreak's helm canted to the side. It was an unspoken demand to know _why_. Prowl resisted the youngling's inquisitive expression, but when the little gray hand tentatively stroked his arm he knew he did not have a choice.

He tore his gaze away from the trusting face turned up to him expectantly. He was about to do what he desperately wanted to avoid: destroy Bluestreak's trust in him. But he could not avoid doing so, because if he lied he would do the same thing. He released a vent. "You wish to know why no one trusts me with you?"

Bluestreak nodded.

Prowl shuttered his own optics briefly. "I… I am not trusted because I used to fight for their enemy… for the side that destroyed our home."

Bluestreak did not respond for a long moment, almost as if he was not sure he should believe Prowl's words. But then wide blue optics blazed and the little helm shook wildly, hands pushing desperately against Prowl to put distance between them. Prowl reached out for him, but Bluestreak trilled suddenly afraid.

Feeling his spark rip apart as he allowed Bluestreak to back away, Prowl watched in muted horror as the youngling pushed himself against the furthest wall, curling in on himself. The little frame shook in time with keening sobs.

Alarm shot through Prowl. He was a tactician. Comforting sparklings was not something he was programmed for. Oh, he had learned a few tricks, but this was beyond his experience. Lacking a better idea at the moment, he reached out and picked up the small cube Bluestreak had dropped and moved slowly to where the youngling was now cowering.

"Bluestreak… you need to finish your energon." It was lame and sounded as lame to his audios as it felt to say it.

Bluestreak, for his part, just curled tighter in on himself, pressing himself against the wall piteously.

Prowl knelt, not wanting to crowd him. "I did not mean to frighten you, Bluestreak." There was no response. Still at a loss, Prowl hesitantly reached out to place a hand between the trembling little doorwings. His spark ached for the sparkling. "I would never do anything to hurt you."

Bluestreak looked up, accusation in his blue gaze as he whistled and clicked agitatedly. But that was not sufficient to express the youngling's irritation apparently, as he then launched himself at Prowl, pounding tiny fists against whatever armor plate he could reach. Prowl's optics widened in surprise at the assault, and he pulled his arm away.

But Bluestreak was not mollified. The tantrum was not to get Prowl away from him; it was something else. It was a release of all the emotions – the anger, the fear, the hatred, the helplessness – that the orphaned sparkling had not had an opportunity to express at those who had destroyed his home and killed his creators. Blinded by the depth of his grief, Bluestreak charged, striking wildly at the nearest available target.

That the youngling felt safe enough to give vent to the pain he head kept internalized escaped Prowl at the moment. He was so surprised that he did not respond immediately. He was not in danger from the assault, Bluestreak was only scratching his paint, even if it felt like his spark was being torn apart.

"Bluestreak… I know you have lost a lot. I am no longer aligned with those who destroyed Praxus. That is why I am here." Another small fist landed on his armor. "I did not mean to hurt you, but I wanted you to know the truth. I understand if you no longer want me to be your guardian…"

Bluestreak made another angry wail, his optics blazing. Prowl blinked, not knowing what had triggered that. The sparkling continued to berate him in clicks, whistles and beeps, doorwings spread wide with obvious anger. At least the assault had stopped.

Prowl was struck with the interesting conundrum that he was both glad Bluestreak could not speak intelligently – because of what he would probably be saying – and a desire to be able to understand what he was wanting to communicate.

Now Bluestreak was standing with hands on his hip joints, waiting for a response. A response Prowl had no idea how to frame. "Bluestreak I… I'm sorry. I… " An idea struck him. Even if Bluestreak demanded a different guardian afterward, there _was_ something he could do. "I will speak to Ratchet about getting you language downloads."

Bluestreak stepped back, looking puzzled at the sudden change in topic, trilling softly. Prowl obligingly explained. "Once you have the upgrades, you will be able to communicate more clearly.

Though his optics were still awash with lubricant, the anger and hostility seemed to evaporate. He gently pat Prowl's chassis softly, questioningly, as if seeking confirmation.

Prowl nodded. "You have every right to be angry Bluestreak. I am too. Not at you, but at those who have done this to you. I believe you are ready for the upgrade and I will do what I can to help you get it."

Bluestreak considered him closely, then whirred softly.

… … …

Jazz joined Ironhide and Ratchet, hunched around the monitors in the security office. Currently, all three were focused on the screens showing the feeds from the monitoring devices in the Decepticon defector's quarters.

But the ex-Con had not done anything worth watching. They had set up a scenario designed to tempt him.

Ironhide grumbled. "He should be low on energon by now."

Jazz nodded, arms crossed over his chassis as he watched with interest. Prowl had onlined as defensively as he would have expected, but had not otherwise responded to the blatant invasion of privacy.

"He is." He confirmed. "He's only had one small cube since he arrived. And he was leaking energon from his wounds for a while."

He frowned, Prowl had done nothing but take up the datapad and begin reviewing it. Never once had he even touched the cube, leaving it to sit there, though the silver minibot knew it had to be mocking the needs of his frame. But in watching on the monitor, one would be hard pressed to even presume the tactician was in any way affected.

"Bluestreak is powering up." Ratchet said suddenly, redrawing Jazz's attention.

Three sets of optics watched carefully as Prowl became aware of the little one's attention. Within moments the adult Praxian handed the cube of energon to the youngling without even a hint of hesitation.

Jazz blinked, sharing a surprised glance with Ratchet. Decepticons, even those who defected, were not known for having altruistic motivation. They were further taken off guard when Prowl clearly refused to accept the small amount of energon Bluestreak offered him.

"You think he might actually have a moral code in there, somewhere?" Ironhide demanded gruffly.

"It is possible." Ratchet answered.

Jazz watched carefully, his processor racing. Then the youngling freaked out, scrambling away from Prowl as if terrified. Or infuriated.

Jazz growled, the noise echoed by Ironhide. "That fragging glitch!"

Ironhide was on his pedes, but Ratchet shot out a hand to stop him. "Wait!"

Despite every instinct telling them not to, both warriors waited, their frames tense as they watched. Prowl hesitantly approached the sparkling, dropping to one knee.

"It could just be a psychological response to the trauma." Ratchet intoned softly. "Bluestreak has not had a chance to grieve. If he trusts Prowl, that could be what we are seeing. I don't think it was anything Prowl did… see how he is trying to comfort him? Remarkable."

Ironhide grunted noncommittally, then growled again as the Sparkling responded by flying at the former Decepticon with tiny fists. The weapons specialist was on his pedes instantly. "He might hurt the youngling for that. No 'Con'll allow something like that to go unpunished."

Jazz was up as well, moving for the door. "Slag. He's right!"

Ratchet tried to stop them. "If we barge in there, he'll know he's being monitored."

Jazz whirled back, optics blazing behind his visor as Ironhide continued for the door. "If we don't, Bluestreak might not be alive to care."

"Slag." Ratchet was likewise on his pedes with a swiftness that belied his bulk.

All three made it to the Decepticon's quarters at a dead run. They burst through the door with such suddenness that Bluestreak squeaked in fright and jumped onto Prowl's chassis, clinging to him.

… … …

Prowl barely had time to register the sudden invasion before he found his arms full of trembling sparkling. Only recognition of the three new-comers kept Prowl from responding defensively.

Ironhide's weapons were spinning warningly, Jazz appeared braced for anything, and even Ratchet looked worried. It did not take Prowl long to deduce that they were aware of the tantrum Bluestreak just had and were concerned for his safety. That meant they must have had him under surveillance.

Of course. Though he was tempted to take offense, he was all too aware that with most Decepticons an attack like that would be responded to violently. They had a right to be concerned about the youngling's safety, even if it was unnecessary.

"Don't move, 'Con." Ironhide's growled command carried dangerous promise and Prowl was reminded of the weapon specialist's threat regarding traumatizing Bluestreak.

Prowl nodded, looking down at Bluestreak to see wide, scared optics looking back at him.

"Do not worry, Bluestreak. None of them will harm you." He spoke softly, even as he lifted his hands slightly in surrender.

A low, questioning whirr was the sparkling's response along with another gentle pat to his chassis.

Prowl's doorwings flicked. "Do you remember what I said about trust?"

Bluestreak nodded, then his optics widened in understanding. Indecision warred briefly on his young face, then he lowered himself to the ground, turning to face the three new mechs. He kept one hand on Prowl, as if seeking comfort.

Jazz smiled, though it was laced with tension. He waved Bluestreak away from Prowl. "Why don't ya come o'er here, little guy. Lets leave the mean 'ol 'Con and go have some fun."

Prowl did not move, letting Bluestreak make his own decision. But the little blue and gray youngling shook his helm, curling back against Prowl's chassis.

Prowl caught the hint of indecision and concern that flicked through the three Autobots and released a vent. A quick check of his chronometer confirmed it was only fifteen breems from when Jazz had told him his evaluations would begin. He looked down at the youngling .

"Bluestreak, please go with Jazz. Do not worry. It is time for me to start my… training. That is not something you can accompany me to. Jazz will watch out for you."

Bluestreak hesitated, looking from Jazz to Ratchet to Ironhide, then up at Prowl. Blue optics searched red for a long moment, in which none of the Autobots dared even cycle air. Finally Bluestreak reached up to gently touch Prowl's cheek plating.

It was either an attempt to elicit a promise or the giving of a promise. Prowl was not sure. Perhaps it was both.

Then the youngling smiled brightly and nodded. With a happy trill he then bounded over to Jazz.

With an unreadable glance from Bluestreak to Prowl, Jazz ushered the small Praxian from the room.

Once they were gone, the tension level skyrocketed. Once again aware he no longer had Bluestreak to guard him from any negative reaction the weapons specialists might have.

"What did you do to him?" Ratchet demanded, his engine growling in threatening harmony with Ironhide's.

Prowl's emotionless mask settled completely back into place as he schooled his features. "I have done nothing, as you surely know."

"That's slag!" Ironhide stepped forward, towering over Prowl threateningly. "He was obviously upset with you and now he is trying to defend you from us."

Prowl cautiously gazed up at the irritated Autobot, but did not dare stand from his kneeling position just yet. He gauged his options and decided to do the same thing he had with Bluestreak; he spoke the truth. "I was honest with him. He was curious as to why I was not having energon. He wanted to know why none of you trusted me. He was not pleased when he learned I was of the same faction that destroyed his home."

"And killed his creators." Ironhide growled.

"Yes." Prowl shuttered his optics at the painful reminder.

Ratchet crossed his arms, not satisfied. "No wonder he went ballistic. So, why did he go from that to almost protective?"

"I do not know."

Ironhide huffed and he looked at Ratchet. Prowl knew the two were communicating, doubtless deciding what to do with him next. He waited, the weapons still armed on Ironhide's arms reminding him of his place. He had no say in what was going to happen.

Finally Ironhide shifted, his oversized cannons powering off. "Come with me."

Prowl blinked, but swiftly rose to his feet and wordlessly followed the large black weapon's specialist. He counted himself fortunate they had not questioned him more severely.

It was not a little matter, the caring for a sparkling. If they thought he had mistreated Bluestreak…

Of course, that was not to say he was not about to face another form of discipline for the perceived infraction. Ironhide had 'promised' him severe consequences if he traumatized Bluestreak at all.

… … …

Prowl was taken to a training range. There he was put through several exercises to test his marksmanship with various weapons. Following that he was put through another series of exercises that pitted him against Decepticons in increasingly difficult situations. In truth, they were simply more complex marksmanship tests.

It was not challenging at all for Prowl until he was faced with a hostage situation. A Decepticon held a smaller, neutral femme at gunpoint in an attempt to get away from him. Prowl easily ignored the taunts the holographic Decepticon threw at him as he carefully calculated his options.

After carefully reviewing the numbers three times, Prowl was confident with the odds. The probability was in favor that he could hit the Decepticon, so he leveled his training weapon, took aim and pulled the trigger.

As expected, the holographic enemy staggered, a hole appearing between his optics as he let go of the neutral hostage before dropping to the ground.

But Prowl had no opportunity to savor his simulated victory before his weapon was torn from his hands and he was pushed savagely backward by a large black arm across his chassis. He just barely caught himself from retaliating when he recognized his assailant was Ironhide, not another simulated enemy.

Prowl Managed to suppress a snarl of irritation. "What?"

The arm across his chassis shifted to his throat, pushing him against the wall again. "What the frag do you think you're doing? You fired at a neutral civilian!"

Prowl's systems stilled in confusion. "There was a 68.89% chance I could hit the enemy, so I took it."

Ironhide's angry faceplate loomed closer, the hand on his collar strut tightening. "You slagging glitch! Unless there is at least a ninety percent chance that you won't hit the innocent hostage, _Autobots_ don't do scrap like that!"

Prowl was pushed harder into the wall as Ironhide growled. "You got that? I don't care what standards you followed as a 'Con. _Every_ life is precious and if I _ever_ see or hear of you pulling scrap like that for _real_, I'll kill you for treason myself."

Prowl remembered how Ironhide had ordered his mechs not to fire when he had been captured because he was holding Bluestreak and realized the mech spoke the truth. He took a moment to evaluate the Autobot looming over him. The anger was real, but so was the shocked disbelief and that gave the tactician pause. That action had been something that had differentiated the Autobots from the Decepticons in Prowl's processor… why he had consented to hand Bluestreak over to them.

He was pushed into the wall, his doorwings scraping painfully, but he could not tear his attention from the broiling rage in Ironhide's expression as more dormant enforcer protocols were re-awakened in his CPU. Prowl's legs weakened.

There had been a day when he would not have taken that shot, when he would have had to be 90 percent sure before he would have. That had been his basic operating principle, one he would never have deviated from. Until he had joined the Decepticons.

Until he had allowed himself to be influenced by the policies and attitudes of a faction that would blithely obliterate and entire city of innocent neutrals.

Prowl suddenly felt nauseous, his tanks roiling at realizing just how far he _personally_ had fallen just to follow the strictly logically dictated course of ending the war quickly. All the vorns he had told himself that as he had not actually killed innocents with his own hands, he somehow was not as at fault, he now saw the truth. He had believed the ends justified the means and had forgotten that by abandoning principle he abandoned the very reason for fighting.

Cybertronians were _not_ mindless killing machines without a conscience, but reasonable, ethical individuals. By suppressing that part of his programming, Prowl had suppressed his very spark. A shudder worked its way down his spinal struts.

He shuttered his optics briefly, wondering if he could ever regain what he had lost, become what he had once been, or had his time under Megatron warped him too much? He hardly noticed his sensory doorwings scraping painfully against the wall.

After a spark beat or two, Prowl onlined his optics, forcing himself to meet the still angry, deep cobalt gaze of the Autobot weapons specialist.

Under those blazing blue optics, Prowl felt the reprimand and welcomed it. He kept his frame absolutely still, submitting to the larger mech. "I understand." He spoke softly. "Your correction is… appreciated, Ironhide. It is my hope you will continue to correct my behavior as necessary."

Ironhide's optics widened slightly and then he slowly stepped back, releasing Prowl. Instinct told Ironhide more had just happened there than initially met the optic. Then he grunted, suspicious.

"That is enough for today." Ironhide's gaze raked over Prowl's form, which did not move even though he was no longer being held against the wall. "Come."

Prowl moved then, falling into step as Ironhide took him swiftly back to his quarters. Ironhide stopped just outside the closed door.

"Jazz is with Bluestreak." He pointed to the door.

Prowl nodded in understanding then looked at Ironhide, hesitating momentarily. Then he spoke softly, quickly. "Thank you for your time, today."

Prowl did not wait to see Ironhide's reaction but walked into his quarters.

Jazz was sitting at the desk, reading the datapad Prowl had left there. Both saboteur and youngling looked up at his entry. Bluestreak whirred and darted to him, throwing his short arms around Prowl. Not expecting such an enthusiastic greeting considering how they had parted, Prowl reciprocated with one arm, stroking the excited youngling between the doorwings.

Then Bluestreak pushed away from him, trilling. Not entirely sure what the youngling wanted, Prowl knelt to put him optic to optic. "What is it?"

Warbling and clicking Bluestreak pointed to Jazz and then gestured around to various panels on the wall. Understanding almost immediately, Prowl smirked, looking up at Jazz.

"Changing the monitoring devices around?"

Jazz managed to look far too innocent to be believable. "Monitoring devices?"

Prowl shook his head. "I assure you, I had no intention of removing or even searching for the ones already here. There is no need to try and mask or change their locations."

Jazz stared for a long moment, then smiled ruefully. "Kid gave me away, didn't he?"

Prowl gave a slight shrug of his doorwings, standing once more. "These are his quarters as well." He looked at Bluestreak. "Don't worry about what Jazz was doing. He only wants to make sure you are safe."

Bluestreak thought about that, then looked from Jazz back to Prowl letting out a quiet, questioning trill.

Prowl released a short snort of air "No, I doubt he cares much as to whether I am safe."

Jazz's grin spread wider. "Nope." Neither adult noticed Bluestreak's frown. Jazz gestured around the room suspiciously. "You are taking this rather well."

Prowl grunted. "I understand the situation. Such surveillance is only logical. Besides, you reminded me just this morning that I have no privacy."

"Right." Jazz stood, putting the datapad back on the desk. "Well, I'll just…"

Bluestreak tapped Prowl's leg, the movement interrupting Jazz. Prowl, however knew immediately what Bluestreak was after.

"Right, of course." Prowl looked up at Jazz, positioning himself in a deliberate posture of respectful entreaty. "Jazz, would you please escort Bluestreak and I to the med bay?"

Jazz frowned. "Somethin' wrong?"

Prowl shook is head sharply. "Not at all. I merely want to fulfill a promise I made to Bluestreak."

"Oh? And what promise might that be?"

Prowl blinked, that question revealed that they must not have had audio capture devices in his room – though that could easily have been fixed by Jazz already. "I promised to request something from Ratchet that he is interested in."

"Oh. This should be interesting." Jazz motioned with one hand to the door. "After you."

… … …

Jazz led the former Decepticon to the med bay, curious about what was about to transpire, but Prowl kept his silence. Bluestreak, however, did not. He trilled and whistled excitedly the whole trek. When he glanced back, Jazz was surprised to see that the little youngling was contentedly holding Prowl's hand.

How a young one, who had seen his creators killed in front of him could trust a Decepticon was beyond Jazz, though a part of him hoped Prowl would be able to live up to it.

Ratchet walked up to them as they entered. "Jazz?"

Jazz quickly lifted his hands shaking them rapidly in denial then pointed to Prowl. Optic ridge rising incredulously, Ratchet turned his attention to the two other interlopers.

"Ratchet." Prowl intoned as if on cue. "I would like to request Bluestreak be given the standard language datapacks."

Jazz could not help snickering quietly at the look Ratchet adopted, though he too was curious. Then Ratchet's stunned expression morphed swiftly into fury.

Jazz was then impressed with how Prowl managed not to react to Ratchet's tirade. "I don't care what you slagging 'Cons did, we do _not_ force younglings to mature too fast by slapping upgrades on them before their systems can fully support them. If you…"

"He is ready for the language upgrades." Prowl interrupted calmly, outwardly unperturbed by the wrench-wielding CMO.

"And you are a medic now?"

Prowl remained un-phased. "He understands what we say and he wants to be understood. He understands enough to try and ask for the upgrade."

Ratchet, having already lifted the wrench, stopped, blinking down at Bluestreak. "How would you know what to look for to know when a youngling is ready for an upgrade.?"

It was Prowl's turn to blink, making Jazz think he was surprised Ratchet stopped. "I was an enforcer since my creation. We were trained to notice when sparklings are in need of upgrades as failure to provide necessary upgrades is often evidence of other areas of neglect."

Jazz had never seen Ratchet brought out of a full-blown rage that quickly by anyone other than Optimus. But the medic was now scanning the youngling carefully. When Ratchet blinked again, this time in consternation, Jazz found himself once more stifling a snicker.

Into the pause, which apparently Prowl read as clearly as Jazz, the tactician spoke. "I know that before the war it was customary for caretakers to either purchase or barter for their younglings first upgrades."

Both Ratchet and Jazz's attention snapped back to the older Praxian.

"And just what are you willing to give?" Ratchet asked carefully.

Prowl answered without any inflection. "I have no possessions at this time as everything was seized during my capture. So I am willing to offer what I can. His upgrade in exchange for my next energon ration."

Jazz and Ratchet stared at him, neither one believing what they had just heard.

Jazz recovered first, stepping forward noticing that Bluestreak was also staring at Prowl, though in awe. "It has already been an orn since you had any energon." The saboteur noted softly.

Prowl simply nodded, keeping his optics on Ratchet, not seeing how Bluestreak's optics had widened at the exchange.

"Why do you care so much about him?" Ratchet demanded.

Prowl considered Ratchet, his ruby optics flashing to Jazz briefly as he debated how much to share. Jazz could see when the decision was made in the slight relaxation of Prowl's doorwings. The mech finally spoke, his voice low.

"My core programing is that of an Enforcer. My decision to join the Decepticons was strictly based on logic, not taking ethics or higher morality into consideration. Once I realized that lapse, my only option was to do what I could to right those wrongs."

Prowl's gaze dropped to Bluestreak, but Jazz continued watching the tactician. "Bluestreak is an innocent youngling whose home and family have been brutally torn away from him. I was unable to prevent that from happening. This… this is something I _can_ do."

Jazz found himself staring, completely at a loss, but his brief insight into Prowl's mind left him with no doubt that the Praxian was serious. A glance at Ratchet confirmed the CMO was thinking the same thing. It gave Jazz a spark of hope that his fledgling willingness to give the Decepticon a chance was not misplaced. It was not trust, it was too early for trust, but it was something.

Finally Ratchet spoke. "I will give him the upgrade."

Prowl regarded the CMO for a moment, then nodded solemnly and Jazz realized the tactician had assumed his proposal had been agreed to. Jazz knew in that moment Prowl expected to have at least one energon ration withheld in exchange for Bluestreak's upgrade.

Bluestreak, however, was frowning, looking at Prowl worriedly. When Prowl returned his attention to the youngling Jazz almost fell over to see the taciturn Praxian smile ever so slightly. He would have missed it if he had not been looking for it. Bluestreak returned the smile with a timid one of his own.

Then Bluestreak reached up and took Prowl's hand and walked toward Ratchet slowly, pulling an acquiescing tactician with him. But when the medic attempted to plug the download cord into his dataport, Bluestreak flinched away.

Jazz watched as Prowl frowned and found himself tensing, just in case the former Decepticon took poorly to the display of weakness. But he need not have worried.

Prowl merely knelt, putting himself optic to optic with the youngling. "Ratchet will not harm you." There was no response from Bluestreak and Prowl tried again. "Have you ever had a data download before?"

Bluestreak shook his helm, clinging more closely to Prowl.

"It is not painful." Prowl assured the youngling with remarkable gentleness. "It may make your processor feel full until your systems incorporate the new data, but that is all. And it will pass."

Jazz could not help but watch with an increasing sense of surrealism as Bluestreak reached up and touched the dataport at the back of his neck then out to touch Prowl's dataport, the same one Jazz had used during his interrogation, with timid fingers. It was amazing that Prowl allowed the contact. Even more so that he seemed to interpret it as a silent question.

"Yes, I have done this many times and have never been hurt by it." Big, pleading blue optics lifted to Prowl's face and Jazz saw the tactician release a vent. "I will show you."

The Praxian turned his ruby gaze up to Ratchet. _/We should demonstrate the procedure for Bluestreak./_

The statement was sent out on a tight comm. to both Jazz and Ratchet.

Ratchet blinked, in as much shock as Jazz was. _/If you download the language pack, the duplicate data might cause problems 'till your processor can tag all of it for overwriting./_ The medic warned on the same frequency.

_/I will not actually download the data./_ Prowl assured.

Ratchet paused, then reluctantly slid the dataplug into Prowl's open dataport.

Bluestreak flinched as the cord sank home, but when Prowl neither moved or gave any indication of discomfort, he relaxed. With another small trill, he reached out with a timid hand and gently fingered the connection and Jazz watched with increasing amazement as Prowl held perfectly still for the youngling's inspection. Then, optics satisfied, Bluestreak looked back up with a smile on his faceplates.

Seeing this, Prowl released the cable only to suddenly find his arms full of sparkling. From this place of safety, Bluestreak looked up at Ratchet and babbled something in a string of clicks and whistles then smiled again, pointing at his own dataport, presenting it to the medic.

Ratchet actually startled Jazz anew by chuckling at the little one's antics as he proceeded to connect the download pack to the sparkling.

It did not take long. As complicated as the Cybertronian language was in all it's common forms, it was actually one of the easiest downloads a youngling would ever receive, primarily because the innate understanding of language was preprogrammed into every frame, not by the frame builders, but by the sparks that gave the frames life. It was a mystery none of the best scientists in Cybertronian history had ever been able to explain.

With another, almost tender smile, Ratchet unplugged the youth. "Now, go recharge. It should only take a decaorn or so to fully integrate. If there are complications, let me know."

Prowl nodded, bowing slightly. "Of course."

Still in Prowl's arms, Bluestreak rocked side to side slightly, a fuzzy light in his optics as he struggled to integrate the language files. He was no longer really seeing his surroundings as he whistled lowly to himself.

Ratchet looked at Prowl. "You know how to put a sparkling into recharge?"

Prowl did not answer right away, considering Ratchet carefully at the suspicious tone. "Yes. But as I doubt you are comfortable trusting me to that extent, perhaps you should do so yourself."

Ratchet blinked. "Of course."

Once Bluestreak was firmly into recharge, clicking contentedly in Prowl's arms, the Praxian stood. He looked calmly at Ratchet. "Thank you Ratchet."

"You did good here." It was said as if Ratchet was having an armor plate pried off.

Prowl allowed a tiny, almost there, smirk to ghost across his faceplates. "Perhaps there is hope for me yet, medic?"

Ratchet grunted. "Maybe."

* * *

_This chapter was quite a bit longer than the others. Don't get used to it, I am not aiming to make them all this long, though I know a lot of you like the longer chapters. It just so happened that I had a certain amount of stuff I needed to cover and splitting it into a separate chapter would have left one being really short. I didn't want to do that to you guys, so I combined it. Lucky you, right? And the only reason these updates have been so close together is because I've been off work for the holidays… don't get used to that, either. Sorry._

_Anyway, please review._


	7. Transition

Prowl onlined early the next orn feeling, while not exactly rested, at least with a definite sense of things being in clearer perspective. He had been truly shocked and unsettled by the realization of just how far his ethical and moral subroutines had drifted from his original programming. He had been equally troubled by how subtly and innocuously the change had happened; enough so he had not even noticed until the truth had been, quite literally, slammed into him.

Ironhide had helped him correct one area where he had gone astray. How many others were still there? How many subtle but dangerous alterations to his original ethical coding remained undiscovered, waiting to appear at any moment?

He had to trust that was the purpose of this evaluation period; that the most common moral aberrations would be tested for. But he could not help but wonder if there was anything he could do himself. One thing came immediately to mind and he set a portion of his processor on the task as his sensors picked up Bluestreak's systems powering up.

As if he had been waiting for that very thing – which he probably had been – Jazz chose that moment to saunter through his door. The smaller, silver mech said nothing at first, he simply watched Bluestreak slowly online.

"I assume you will be procuring Bluestreak's energon?" Prowl asked quietly.

Jazz nodded, not looking at him but at the sparkling in question. "Of course. I'll be taking him to med bay, Ratchet wants to check his progress."

It made sense, despite what Ratchet might have said the previous orn; they no doubt questioned his ability to safely monitor the integration of Bluestreak's first upgrade. Considering how most Decepticons reacted to sparklings, he could not blame them.

Bluestreak sat up on the berth and trilled. Optic ridges furrowing in frustration, Bluestreak tried again. Prowl was beside the berth in two short strides. "It can take several orn for the upgrade to integrate fully. How do you feel?"

Bluestreak's helm canted to the side as he thought. Then he put one hand on his temple plating and then put both hands together before pulling them apart, miming and expanding sphere.

Prowl nodded. "I imagine so. Your processor should begin to feel less full as the orn progresses. Ratchet wants to check on your progress."

Bluestreak nodded and hopped down, holding his hand up to take Prowl's, but the tactician shook his helm regretfully. "Jazz will be taking you. Do be on your best behavior."

Bluestreak let his hand drop back to his side and looked at Jazz momentarily – who smiled warmly at the little one – before looking back at Prowl. He nodded and walked to Jazz, holding his hand up as he had done for the tactician.

Jazz smiled again and took the proffered hand willingly and Prowl watched them walk back to the door. He was tempted to feel resentment that he was not free to follow, but he squelched it, unwilling to mar his satisfaction that Bluestreak was not going to be made to suffer the same restraints as he.

Half way through the door, Jazz paused, looking over his shoulder at Prowl. The saboteur opened his mouth as if to say something, his gaze unreadable behind the visor. The moment stretched but then Jazz snapped his lip plates closed. The inscrutable gaze lingered for an astrosecond longer then Jazz was gone.

Prowl frowned , staring at the now closed door, wondering what his former interrogator had been going to say. If he had not been required to stay in his quarters unless escorted, he would have followed. As it was, he remained in the room, though the door remained unlocked.

With a weary ex-vent Prowl returned to his desk, picking up the datapad Jazz had given him to read.

Only a joor passed before his sensitive doorwings picked up an approaching spark signature. Who ever it was, was moving so quickly Prowl did not have an opportunity to identify them before his door was violently forced open.

Prowl stood respectfully as Ironhide stalked in.

"Where have you been?" The massive weapons specialist demanded, growling darkly.

"Right here." Prowl frowned minutely at the intense hostility, not understanding its source. "Is there somewhere else I should have been?"

Ironhide was close enough to point a scarred finger in Prowl's face and snarled threateningly. "You were supposed to be in the training room half a joor ago."

Prowl did not respond to the invasion of his personal space, tamping down the sudden panic he felt with vorns of practiced ease. "My apologies, Ironhide, but there must be some mistake. I was not notified that my presence was expected anywhere but here."

"I am not interested in your lies, 'Con." The timbre of Ironhide's voice dropped warningly.

"_Former_ Decepticon, sir." Prowl dared intone softly, then louder: "Nor have I been informed I may leave this room without escort."

Prowl watched warily, waiting with concealed nervousness as Ironhide's optics narrowed, raking over his form. Then the Autobot growled low and threateningly. Prowl blinked, recognizing the challenge within the threat. After a moment he averted his gaze, looking to the side, still showing strength but also indicating submission. Clearly he was to be punished for this miscommunication.

Ironhide continued to glare at Prowl, not missing the clearly submissive stance, but not trusting it. Then he saw the slight flick of stiff doorwings, the very minute vibration that raced through the black and white frame and realized the Decepticon defector was expecting to be disciplined…painfully.

He growled again, testing that observation.

Seeing what he wanted, Ironhide stepped back, his armor settling back over his frame. "Jazz." He said shortly, realizing what had happened. "He was supposed to notify you."

"Ah." Prowl started blandly, realizing what Jazz had been about to say, but did not want to dwell on the matter as it could still be dangerous for him. "I see. I apologize for the delay. Should we not proceed?"

Ironhide blinked his optic shutters as if surprised Prowl had taken that as well as he had, then nodded. With a broad sweep of one arm, he gestured Prowl out into the corridor.

… … …

Prowl shortly found himself back in the training room, where the simulations continued. His first day under Ironhide's watch had consisted of marksmanship exercises, now the simulations were more strategy oriented. It appeared that his ability to read a battlefield and respond were what was being tested. Each successive simulation was more complex than the one before.

Much to Prowl's relief - and Ironhide's surprise - the incident from the previous orn was never repeated.

The simulations started with him alone and progressed to having Prowl command small teams of five to eight mechs against increasing numbers of Decepticons in scenarios that required more and more complex tactical approaches in order to achieve victory.

Once again, Prowl's advanced tactical and battle computers made each simulation relatively simple.

Near the end of the orn, Ironhide called a halt.

For safety's sake, Prowl placed his training weapon on the ground as soon as he received the stand down order and stood, turning to face Ironhide.

The weapon's specialist circled him slowly, cautiously, as if not sure what to think. "You're doing good."

Prowl nodded in acceptance of the reluctant compliment, then blinked his optic shutters when Ironhide presented him with a cube of energon.

Suddenly wary, knowing he had agreed to give his next energon ration in exchange for Bluestreak's upgrade, Prowl slowly accepted the cube. He looked up at Ironhide in question, not lifting the glowing liquid energy to his lip plates even though his frame was screaming for sustenance.

"It has been almost two orns since you had any." A pause indicated a response was expected so Prowl nodded. Ironhide gestured to the cube. "It's about time. Go on."

Slowly, still waiting for Ironhide to change his mind, Prowl took a sip. Regardless of the fact it could be drugged, Prowl quickly finished the energon. Once again, it was not enough to fill his tanks, but he could feel it hit his systems and appreciated how much better it made him function.

"Thank you." He said honestly as he returned the empty cube.

With a grin that could not truly be called friendly, Ironhide gestured to the weapon Prowl had placed on the ground. "Back to work."

Thus the simulations continued. The situations became more complex, the ranks of mechs he commanded increased in numbers. This continued for several orns, to the point where Prowl was commanding armies. For his processing abilities, it was not overly taxing, though it was requiring his entire concentration.

Idly Prowl wondered what, exactly they were evaluating at this point, though he did not voice that question. He simply faced the next scenario and did his best. So far his best had been sufficient to ensure victory.

Statistically, however, he knew that would not always be the case. That was proven true six orns after he started the evaluation period.

He stood near one of three advance regiments of an army of five hundred and seventy Autobots as they surrounded a major, if unnamed Decepticon base with the objective of taking out Megatron and his top commanders.

They easily succeeded in tearing through the base's physical defenses and the buildings were now shattered husks. But the fighting had degenerated into scattered hand-to-hand combat.

Prowl ducked a wide swing from his current opponent and took the opening that provided to slip his energon dagger between the gaps in the other's armor, slicing a major energon feed. The mech fell to the ground with a gurgle. Even as he turned to tackle another Decepticon, his processors were directing the troop movements of the rest of the Autobot forces.

Then communications alerted him to an incoming message… from Megatron.

He accepted the transmission and, even knowing it was just a simulation, the words the former Lord Protector snarled into the communication line made his energon lines freeze.

"I have your precious Prime. Surrender now, or I kill him."

Prowl instantly ordered all his troops to assume defensive positions but to hold their fire unless attacked. Then he attempted to contact the simulated Optimus. The hologram confirmed his capture.

As quickly as he could, Prowl made his way to the small clearing where Megatron was holding a badly beaten Optimus, a plasma cannon pointed at the Prime's spark chamber. He had to keep the Decepticon leader talking until he could determine a way out of this.

"What are your terms, Megatron?" He demanded.

The simulated Megatron turned slightly to look at him. "You want to save Optimus' life, you, all of you surrender now. The war ends now with all of you submitting to me or I kill him."

Prowl's processors raced, calculating, evaluating. He checked the stats on his troops and confirmed that they had suffered heavy losses. It did not make sense, unless some of the intelligence they had on the base was erroneous. But at the moment, the Autobots were heavily outnumbered. At this rate, they could not win.

His options were deplorable and very limited. Surrender the army, which he knew would consign them to their deaths. Or withdraw and watch the Prime, simulation or not, murdered in front of him. Neither was an acceptable option. Both would mean the destruction of the Autobot cause and the success of tyranny. He growled, realizing Ironhide had finally found a simulation that beat him.

But it was a choice he found he did not feel qualified to make. There had to be a way that would not utterly destroy the Autobots. No, he had no right to consign an entire army to their death. Nor did he have the right to do the same to Optimus Prime. The only life he had that type of authority over was his own…

His head came up, optics blazing as he realized there _was_ a third option. It was one he knew the real Megatron would probably leap at with a disgusting amount of sadistic glee. There was one potential trade he could make, one mech Megatron would want to get his hands on even more than Optimus Prime: a defector.

It was the only sacrifice Prowl felt qualified to make.

If it were real the Autobots might or might not attempt to rescue him… and that was assuming they ever got the chance. While it was true Megatron might not abide by any agreement, it was still a possibility. He began ordering most of his troops to withdraw even as he organized a small task force to extract Optimus Prime.

Would it be worth it if the simulation were real? Prowl took a moment to consider, but he knew the answer immediately. In the large scheme of things, Prime was more important than one lone Decepticon defector, even if that defector was the best tactician on Cybertron.

He stepped forward, glaring at the holographic Megatron. "Release Prime, and you may take me in his place."

The holograms froze, flickering harshly. It was an indication that that was a response they were not programmed to react to. He waited, but then the entire simulation dissolved, fading from existence. Prowl blinked, focusing on Ironhide as the weapons specialist walked up to him, his expression unreadable.

"Do you have any idea what would happen if you did that for real?"

Prowl blinked. Of course he did, the probability outcomes had been calculated before he had even initiated the action. He nodded. "There is a 96.27% chance that Megatron would accept such a deal because his hatred for defectors would cause him to forget that I am a less strategically important prisoner."

Ironhide just blinked at him, so Prowl continued. "Should he accept, I calculate a 98.19% probability that I would be executed as a traitor, either summarily or after he attempted to extract any information of value I might have."

Ironhide growled and Prowl hastened to finish. "I believe there to be an 89.73% likelihood that I could withstand whatever method he might choose to employ. However, when I was assigned as Megatron's Head Tactician, I wrote a program that would effectively wipe my processor and slag my battle and tactical computers making them unsalvageable if I ever reached that point." He continued softly. "I also know that, as of right now, there is only a 13.02% chance that the Autobots would seek to attempt a rescue in such a scenario."

Ironhide could only stare at Prowl for a long moment, not sure whether to believe the former Decepticon. Would Prowl actually make that choice? The scenario was designed to be no-win. The only options were to sacrifice the Prime or sacrifice the entire army. The option chosen, as well as how difficult it was for them to make the decision, spoke much about the said 'bots value system.

Very few mechs even made it to this scenario because very few had the personality, spark and skills to be a leader at that level. It had been a surprise Prowl had been among the few to have done so.

Of the mere handful of mechs Ironhide had ever personally run through this simulation only one had made the same choice Prowl had. It was a former dockworker turned archivist named Orion Pax and it had been just after he had been named as a candidate for being Sentinel's successor. Like Prowl, Orion had known that his status alone made such a trade even feasible.

Still, it shook the weapons specialist to think Prowl had it in him to become that much of a leader. He was virtually emotionless. He had been a _Decepticon_, for Primus' sake.

Ironhide's optics narrowed suspiciously. "I see. Of course, this was merely a simulation. It's easy to make such a decision when no real danger exists."

Prowl simply considered him, without any outward reaction to the implied accusation. If he was offended, taken aback or disappointed, nothing showed. He simply nodded in acknowledgement of the observation.

That alone surprised Ironhide. Then the tactician spoke softly. "That does not mean it is not the choice I would make if it were real."

Ironhide stepped toward Prowl with understated challenge. "Why would you sacrifice your life like that? Especially when we have given you no cause, when, as you yourself stated, we wouldn't go out of our way to save your aft?"

Prowl fought the urge to shift his doorwings. "Without an army, our cause is lost. Without our Prime, our army would be lost and thus the war. In order for Cybertron to survive, Megatron must be stopped. As valuable as my tactical abilities may be, or become, they are useless without the other two. Therefore, it was the most logical decision to make in the circumstances."

"Logical?"

It was Prowl's turn to blink in confusion at Ironhide's tone. "Of course."

"Right." Ironhide shook his helm, dispelling the surrealism that had claimed his processor. "Go back to your quarters. I will review your performance and determine the next step."

Prowl took half a step backward, though he caught himself from doing anything else, confused and suddenly a little nervous. "Return to my quarters… unescorted?"

"You know the route, yes?" Ironhide sounded irritated now.

"Yes, but…"

"Then get going!" The growl that accompanied the order turned it into a threat.

Prowl snapped to attention, conditioning with the Decepticons and as an Enforcer kicking in again. He bowed his helm formally. "Yes, sir."

With clipped, sharp movements, Prowl turned and walked out of the training range. He hesitated for a sparkbeat as the doors closed behind him, but quickly started walking toward his quarters.

He tried to figure out what had just happened, but was at a loss. Ironhide had seemed disbelieving, then stunned and then almost angry. But he had done nothing to correct him and Prowl was unable to identify what he might have done wrong.

He made it most of the way to his quarters when the sound of running pedes caught his attention. They were rapidly coming toward him. Though he was not sure why, he felt dread grow in his tanks and internals. Cautiously he continued forward, wary and watchful.

His unspoken suspicion was confirmed moments later when three mechs rounded the corner; two were large and red in color, the third a deep cobalt blue. He recognized Inferno and Red-Alert, but not the third. He also noted that all three had their weapons drawn and armed, aimed at him.

Prowl froze, lifting his arms slightly, palms up placating, trying to show he was not a threat.

Red-Alert stepped forward, anger clear in the aggressive flare of his armor. "Just what do you think you are doing?"

Prowl kept his voice calm and collected. "I am returning to my quarters from the training range, as Ironhide ordered me to do."

Optic ridge cocked, Red-Alert shook his head disbelievingly. "Ironhide told you to wonder the halls of the base on your own?"

Prowl frowned. That was not what he had said. "No. He told me to return to my _quarters_ alone."

Red-Alert shook his helm again, this time in reprimand. "You aren't supposed to go anywhere unescorted."

Prowl blinked. That was what he had thought. He considered pointing out again that he was following orders, but quickly decided it would be a waste of time. He briefly wondered why Ironhide would order him to go alone – or not inform security about the change. Was it incompetence… or a test?

Prowl was inclined to lean towards a test.

Prowl bowed his helm respectfully. "My apologies, Red-Alert."

Bright blue optics narrowed suspiciously. "How do you know my designation?"

Surprised again at the Security Director's tone, Prowl answered simply. "The names of senior ranking Autobots and their immediate subordinates are well known to Decepticon Intelligence. Just as are…"

"Decepticon Intelligence?" Red-Alert's optics widened, bright red armor flaring in alarm. "You _are_ a spy!"

Suddenly fighting panic at the radical jump in logic and what it might mean for him, Prowl managed not to let his sudden concern show. "No, no I am not…"

"Take him to the brig, Inferno, Viper." Red-Alert's engine revved.

Prowl shut his lip plates, muting his vocalizer briefly as the two other 'Bots advanced on him. Knowing just how tenuous his position was, he said nothing as his wrists were again bound with stasis cuffs. He released a vent, resigning himself to the inevitable.

Just as he was hauled forward, pushed by none to gentle hands, Jazz's suave voice cut into his thoughts. "Hey, Red, where ya taking Prowler there?"

Prowl stiffened at the nickname, but did not dare protest at the moment.

Red-Alert gestured with his still armed weapon in Prowl's direction. "This Decepticon spy was wondering the halls alone, free to go wherever he wanted. I'm taking him to the brig where he belongs."

Jazz, of all things, smirked at Prowl. "Gave Red-Alert a scare did ya?"

Prowl, now that he was being addressed directly answered quietly. "It was not my intention."

Jazz's smirk was still in place. "Yeah, no doubt." He paused, looking back at the Security Director. "It's okay, Red. I got this. 'Hide told him to go back to his quarters. He's got permission to walk in public areas by himself so long as he is goin' from point A to point B and is expected at point B. Which he is. So, like I said, I got him from here."

Red-Alert's weapon slowly fell back to his side as he glanced with disbelief between Prowl and the saboteur. Finally, the blaster transformed back into a hand. "Oh. I was not informed."

He looked back at Prowl, who was staring at Jazz with an unreadable expression, doorwings stiff as ever. Then he nodded to Inferno and Viper and the former Decepticon was released.

Jazz gave Red-Alert a disarming smile and patted him on the shoulder, though his gaze was likewise fixed on Prowl. "My apologies, Red. I just got the memo myself."

As much as Prowl did not want to acknowledge it, he felt more than just a flicker of gratitude that Jazz had stepped in, even if it had been humiliating in its own way. Terrifying rumors aside, Jazz had not been as cruel an overseer as he could have been. Actually, he had not been _cruel_ at all, irritating and frustrating at times yes, but not sparklessly cruel as he would have expected.

From the way Jazz was considering him, Prowl had the suspicion the saboteur knew what he was processing. For the span of several sparkbeats their gazes lingered and Prowl found he _wanted_ to be able think more kindly of Jazz than he had.

"Thank you." He said after a moment.

Jazz just gestured him to continue down the hall, though the smile never left his lip plates. "Not a problem, _Prowler_."

Prowl's doorwings jerked in irritation, but he was quick to keep walking. Perhaps Jazz would leave him alone once he was 'safely' back in his quarters.

… … …

Early the next orn found Jazz, Ratchet, Ironhide and Optimus Prime gathered around the informal conference table in the Prime's office. On the main display was one of the video feeds from the surveillance sensors in the recent defector's quarters. For the last breem or so the handful of members on the Autobot Command Team had watched Prowl's interactions with Bluestreak.

Just like Ratchet and Jazz had reported, the youngling had been full of questions, which he eagerly used to perfect his grasp of basic Cybertronian. Though even Jazz found the constant stream of questions trying of his patience occasionally, Prowl appeared to be taking it all in stride.

"He just knows we're watching." Ironhide grunted half-heartedly when Optimus pointed that out.

Jazz gave the Weapons Specialist a canted look before focusing on the Prime. "He's done everything we've asked. Hasn't complained at all."

Ratchet nodded, likewise giving Ironhide a look. "He offered to give up his energon ration for Bluestreak's language upgrade."

Ironhide's optics widened at that. "In the traditional demonstration of a sparkling's worth in the eyes of it's creators?"

Ratchet nodded again and Prime's optics returned to the screen, thoughtfully. "Considering the position he is in, that is quite a lot."

Ratchet grunted. "Especially since it had been over an orn since his previous ration when he made the offer."

Silence settled over the small gathering once again and all optics drifted back to the screen where Prowl was helping Bluestreak with something on one of the educational datapads Chromia had given to the youngling. From all appearances, Prowl was actually helping Bluestreak to come to a correct understanding, not simply taking the easy route of just giving him the answers.

Jazz cleared his vents, redrawing the other mechs' attention and he flicked a claw at the screen. "Bluestreak told him I had placed monitoring devices in his quarters. Prowl said he would't mess with 'em or even look for 'em. All because it was only 'logical' we'd keep him under surveillance. He hasn't touched 'em. At all."

Ratchet let a long gust of air sigh through his vents and locked gazes with his Prime. "Like I told you a few orns ago, Optimus. Prowl asked me to place the tracking device on one of his dorsal plates between his doorwings where he could not get to it."

Ironhide's blink was audible. "That's a highly sensitive area on a Praxian frame."

"I know." Ratchet nodded. "Doubtless he is in constant discomfort because of it. He also deleted the timed deactivation sequence in the tracer program before it was installed in his systems. He said it was 'safer' for us and that I could just manually remove it when we decided we could trust him."

Ironhide stared dumbly at the CMO for a long moment then turned his gaze back to the monitor.

Optimus' expression was more controlled than his bodyguard, though shock was still evident in his optics. After a long moment the Prime found his voice again. "That is an unprecedented risk. Why would he trust us to that extent?"

Ratchet shook his helm, the gesture echoed by Jazz, and motioned with one finger towards the Praxian on the screen. "I don't think trust has anything to do with it. He is very aware of his position and of how he is regarded by Autobots. He claimed it was a fair exchange of risk."

It was clear by the Prime's expression that Optimus was taking in all they had said. Then he slowly shifted his gaze to Ironhide. "How has he progressed in his initial evaluations?"

From stunned disbelief, Ironhide's expression morphed swiftly to frustrated and somewhat irritated. He growled, "The fragging tactician is _brilliant_. No matter how complicated the scenario, he finds a solution and manages to eek out a victory of some kind, even if it is just making sure as many of the 'Bots under his command make it out alive as possible. No wonder we were struggling so hard and getting our afts kicked!"

Then the black mech's armor flared and he slouched slightly in his chair. "Only had one incident where he failed the ethical component of the test. On the first day he fired at a 'Con holding a Neutral hostage with less than an eighty percent chance of missing the Neutral. I came down on him really hard: I, uh, backed him up against a wall and chewed him out like I do the Twins when they've done something stupid."

Jazz leaned forward, optics flashing under his visor, one clawed hand splayed on the table. "Oh? And how'd he take that?"

Everyone there knew most Decepticons would have responded in one of two ways. Some, like Starscream, would have attempted to extract themselves from danger by mewling pathetically and groveling. Others, most of them in fact, would have attempted to throw Ironhide off of them. From all his previous observations of the mech, Jazz doubted Prowl had been violent, but he seriously doubted he had taken the 'groveling' option either. That left him truly curious as to what had happened.

Ironhide seemed to deflate as a long sigh of air gusted through his vents. "Take a look for yourselves."

The bulky mech reached up and adjusted the output of his optics to project a miniaturized hologram showing Prowl as seen from Ironhide's perspective. They all watched as a massive black arm struck the smaller frame, sending the black and white Praxian into a wall and then pin him to it.

They saw those shrewd, calculating red optics blaze with indignation and anger as he hit the wall of the training room. Ratchet was not alone as he winced at seeing those sensitive doorwings grinding against the unforgiving surface.

Then the anger left the former 'Con's frame as obvious confusion took its place. They saw Prowl wince as he was pushed harder into the wall. "That was when I threatened to kill him for treason if he ever did something like that for real." Ironhide narrated.

Instead of growling in anger or taking that as a challenge, those ruby optics remained absolutely calm, a touch curiousity and then gradually more evaluating. Then the smaller frame suddenly became tense, though he blinked three times in rapid succession. Jazz sat straighter in his chair, followed closely by Ratchet.

As if aware of their silent anticipation, something remarkable happened. It was not a blatant display of emotion, but it was obvious that every last dreg of defensiveness or fight just bled out of the Praxian as echoes of an ineffable pain whispered across his features.

Then the piercing gaze was turned away, optics shuttering for a brief moment before focusing back on Ironhide. Instead of narrating, Ironhide let the Praxian speak for himself.

"Your correction is… appreciated, Ironhide. It is my hope you will continue to correct my behavior as necessary." It was said with perfect calmness, but for the saboteur and CMO – both of whom had been inside the former Decepticon's mind – it hinted at nuances of several intense emotions bubbling under the stoic mech's control. Hope. Despair. Pain. And, beneath it all, that impressive, undercurrent of determination.

The hologram cut off, leaving the leading Autobots to stare at the now empty space above the conference table. They were just as stunned as Ironhide had been at the time.

Prime regained himself first, looking at Ironhide. "Was it necessary to correct him again?"

"No." Ironhide shook his helm definitively. "Prime, he made it all the way to simulation Sigma Gamma Delta Five of the command series, and Theta Kappa Twenty of the tactical evaluation series. That one didn't even pose a challenge for him."

Considering whom they were discussing, no one was truly surprised that he had blown through the tactical evaluation tests. Ratchet was the first one to voice the obvious question. "Prowl completed _all _of the simulations testing potential command capability and aptitude… _successfully_?"

"Yes." Ironhide nodded and then focused intently on the Prime. "Optimus, he has the skills and the spark to command armies and to _win._ And to do so _within_ ethical guidelines. I swear, it seemed like the more complex the scenario the better he functioned. That was for tactical as well as command and combined situations."

Optimus nodded slowly, his gaze falling back on the monitor where Prowl was once again seated at the desk in his quarters, reviewing the datapad Jazz had left with him nearly a decaorn previously. His appearance screamed 'emotionless Decepticon warrior' but all the reports were confirming what the Prime had felt from the Matrix the first time he had seen Prowl in the hanger bay. There was definitely more to the tactician than met the optic.

Without taking his gaze off the subject of their deliberation, Optimus spoke softly. "How did he do on Sigma Gamma Delta Five? Which choice did he make?"

The question was asked calmly and Ironhide released another long vent of air. "He made the one he considered the most logical." He paused to look at the monitor as well. "He sacrificed himself."

Optimus' gaze snapped to his Weapons Specialist.

Ironhide returned his Prime's stare, some ill-defined emotion roughing his voice. "Yes. He made the same fragged choice _you_ did, Optimus. And, afterward, he gave me a rundown on all the statistical slag why it was the best choice because saving you at the cost of the army would destroy the Autobots and our cause. Likewise, loosing you would ultimately do the same fragging thing."

A large metal fist landed on the table, denting it's surface. "He even admitted there was a _very_ low probability that we'd even try to save him as it stands now. And, I know we can't trust his word or anything yet, but he also said he would've made the same choice for real."

A strained silence descended over the conference table as each mech present processed, not just Ironhide's words but also the burning intensity with which they had been said. Was it possible? Could they trust what the initial evaluations showed? Should they take that chance?

If there was one thing war was quick to teach those who participated in it, it was that if something seemed too good to be true, it was usually a Decepticon trap. The second thing war taught someone was that trusting the enemy too quickly was a fast way to end up offline and in the Well of Allsparks. The very possibility that Prowl could turn out to be that much of an asset was almost intoxicating… and was enough to garner even more caution. None of the four mechs was immune to the conflict.

"He'll be scanned after his first mission." Ratchet intoned into the heavy silence. "That's according to the protocol for a defector's integration. We can check the veracity of that claim then."

Optimus nodded regally, though not completely without emotion. "Yes. If it is true… Prowl may prove to be one of the best things that has happened to the Autobot cause in a long time."

"_If._" Jazz reminded them tightly. Then, drumming his claws on the table he glanced at each of the other three mechs, settling back on Prime. "He's passed every test we've given him so far – official and unofficial. Don't that mean its time ta move on ta stage two?"

Optimus nodded. "Indeed." He looked at the mech orchestrating this part of the Decepticon defector's integration. "Ironhide, have you found a patrol team willing to allow Prowl to accompany them?"

Ironhide grimaced. "Only one."

* * *

_Whew. I know, I know, I said not to get used to the longer chapters. I really didn't think this one was going to be as long as it was. Oh, well. I guess no one is really complaining, right? _

_Anyway, this was mostly a transition chapter, and I know lil' Bluestreak didn't play such a prominent role this time. Hang in there, Blue will be in and out of the spotlight so he isn't going anywhere. _

_Any guesses as to who is going to let Prowl go out on patrol with them?_

_As always, please review…_


	8. Assignment

_Congratulations to __**Simvinele, Sunstarunicorn, xXRetrobotXx, Exactlywhat, Foxbear & Elita-**_**2** _for correctly guessing who Prowl will be going on patrol with!_

_By the way, in regards to the no-win simulation in the previous chapter, in my head it was more of a morality test (save the one important individual or save the many...) as well as a test to see how had it was for them to decide who to sacrifice (if they did it easily, could you really trust them to watch your back? Would you really want someone in command who can sacrifice that many soldiers without struggling with the decision?) It was also a test as to their strength... did they have a mental breakdown or could they remain calm and collected under such a situation; being forced into such a choice. It could also have been a test to see if they were able to think 'outside the box' so to speak. My apologies if this was not clearly enough portrayed to begin with. _

* * *

Prowl looked up as Jazz entered his quarters. He had been expecting a visit, not just because the mech came by every orn but also because he had not done so the previous orn. Something had changed and, even if he was to be forgotten, he knew Bluestreak would not be and the energon that had been left with him after he had completed the last simulation was almost gone.

Once he realized the pattern in Jazz's visitation had changed, he had started to ration his energon more carefully, ensuring Bluestreak received as much as his young frame required. Even so, they would soon run out and he was sufficiently confident that whatever sensors they had monitoring his quarters were recording exactly how much energon was stored there.

Thus he had been left with no option but to wait, which he had managed with commendable patience, knowing if it came down to it, Bluestreak would get _all_ the energon he had left if more was not provided. Perhaps it was just another test.

He could not help but fear he had failed that last simulation and that his opportunity to integrate into the Autobot forces would be taken away before he had really been given a chance.

But now Jazz was here. Was he here to take him back to a prison cell? Simply to deliver more energon? Or perhaps it was for another scan of his processor.

"Jazz!" Bluestreak leapt to his feet and ran to fling his arms around Jazz's knee. Then, before the saboteur could respond, the youngling was racing back to Prowl, climbing onto the chair the tactician had vacated in order to stand respectfully. Once there, Bluestreak leaned against Prowl, hooking one hand around a convenient armor plate.

"Jazz." Prowl said with much more formal politeness than he truly felt at the moment, pushing aside his dark musing. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Though he could not see them, Prowl had the distinct impression that Jazz's optic ridge cocked at that. Then the silver minibot strode into the room in what Prowl could only call a mosey. Jazz owned the place and his body language proclaimed as much as he leaned against the edge of the desk.

The corner of Jazz's lip plates quirked. "Just wanted ta let ya know the Boss 'Bot has decided its time to send ya on Patrol."

Prowl's engine stuttered, one doorwing flicking slightly. That was not what he had expected the mech to say. It meant he had passed the first stage of their integration process. Was it possible?

"Yes?" He asked cautiously, not really sure what he was asking.

"Yep." Jazz straightened, rubbing his clawed hands together in obvious anticipation that filled Prowl with quiet dread. "You will be accompanying Sunstreaker and Sideswipe."

The floor suddenly felt like it was falling out from underneath him. "The Twins?"

"Oh?" Jazz's helm cocked slightly, though his expression did not change. "You know 'em?"

Prowl released a vent. "I was an enforcer in Praxus before the war." He reminded his former interrogator. "They were rather notorious in the underworld gladiator fights and were general public nuisances."

"Well, the nuisance part hasn't changed."

Prowl eyed the smaller mech. "I arrested them on several occasions."

Jazz actually laughed at that, and it was not a guarded chuckle, but a full, honest sound. "I bet there's a story there."

Then Jazz was serious again, the light behind his optics growing sharper. "Anyhow, too bad for you. They were the only ones willing to take the chance with you."

When Prowl just stared at him, Jazz continued, deadly serious. "So, you wanna keep moving forward? You go out on patrol with the Twins."

It was on the tip of Prowl's glossa to just ask to be taken back to the brig. Vorns locked in a single, tiny cell on survival rations were better than being under the command of the Twins… right? He just could not form the words in his vocalizer. If he was serious about his new commitment…

In spite of every intention not to, Prowl bowed his helm. "As you wish."

Still deep in thought, his optics fell onto the datapad sitting on the desk. After his waking epiphany about his own degraded moral coding, Prowl had revisited the recommendations he had made about Autobot protocols. Sure enough most, but not all, had not been weaknesses at all, but concessions to the very ethics that differentiated them from the Decepticons.

He had, in the intervening orns, deleted the recommendations he had made that fit that category and had reviewed and refined the recommendations that were still appropriate. Not that he ever expected to have the opportunity to present them for consideration.

Jazz, it seemed, had followed his gaze and spoke softly but with steel in his voice. "Ya are expected to follow tha rules as written. Not the way ya might _want_ 'em to be."

Prowl blinked. That was right. Jazz had been reading the datapad when he had come back from the training room that first orn. Doubtless he had seen Prowl's notes. "I have no desire for the regulations to be any different than they are."

Jazz's gaze was unreadable as he flicked a finger toward the datapad. "No?"

Prowl shook his helm, lifting his gaze to the saboteur's. The mech had been in his head once already and was likely to be the one who would be asked to do any other scans Autobot Command might deem necessary. "No. I have come to appreciate the reasons for what I had initially taken as weaknesses. It would be… wrong to alter them."

Bluestreak pressed tighter against him and Prowl rested a hand between his doorwings, though he was not sure who was comforting who.

Jazz just studied him carefully, his expression not revealing anything but an unnerving intensity. "Ya mean that?"

Prowl thought briefly about the steps he was taking to make sure he would not again fail to live up to his original ethical programming. Soon it would be literally impossible. He nodded. "Yes."

Jazz nodded then, his frame relaxing. "Tomorrow then. I'll come get ya at mid-orn."

"Understood." Then Prowl glanced down at Bluestreak. "Who will care for him while I am gone?"

Jazz's armor relaxed even further over his frame. "Ironhide and his sparkmate, Chromia. She's the one who has been takin' care of 'im while you've been with Ironhide."

"Ah. Then that would make her the little black and yellow sparkling's caretaker as well." Prowl realized, able to make more sense of some of Bluestreak's stories.

"Bumblebee." Bluestreak piped up then. "He is really funny and likes to laugh. And his paint is so bright its almost impossible not to be happy when I'm with him. Even though he can't speak properly yet, he is really good at saying what he means. I'm glad there is another youngling on the base who I can play with otherwise it would be very boring…"

Bluestreak trailed off, looking down and Prowl felt his spark lurch. He had not been to the training rooms for over an orn; in that time and Bluestreak had been left entirely in his care. While it might have indicated a level of trust in his ability to care for the youngling, it had also left the little one bereft of his closest friend.

"Jazz." Prowl made a decision, looking back at the saboteur. "When you leave, would it be possible for you to take Bluestreak to…play… with Bumblebee?"

The silver minibot looked surprised. "Won't ya get lonely being in here all orn by yourself?"

Prowl could not stop the small quirk to his lip plates, not fooled into thinking Jazz was truly concerned about him. "I survived an orn in stasis cuffs magnetically bound to an interrogation chair and with fresh injuries. Simple loneliness is hardly a hardship." Prowl shrugged minutely with one doorwing. "Besides, Bluestreak does not deserve another orn without peer interaction."

"Ya mean that too, don't ya?" Jazz asked quietly.

"Of course I do."

Bluestreak lifted the hand that was not grasping Prowl's plating to touch his arm. "I don't mind being a little bored. Not that I'm really that bored because I learn a lot when I talk to you. I don't mind. I don't want to be why you are lonely."

For a moment, Prowl ignored Jazz completely. "Jazz was not seriously implying I would be damaged by spending time alone. If Jazz is willing to take you to Bumblebee, I want you to go."

Bluestreak continued to stare up at him, blue optics searching and then he smiled, doorwings drooping in clear relief and gratitude. "Thank you, Prowl."

Prowl stroked the gray armor under his hand then looked up at Jazz and was somewhat surprised to see the Autobot had the slightly far away look of a mech using his internal communications system. He saw the moment Jazz refocused on him. "Jazz?"

The Head of Autobot Intelligence nodded. "Come on, Bluestreak. Let's go play with Bumblebee."

"Yeah!" Bluestreak started to jump from the chair he was standing on, but he brought himself up short. "Are you sure, Prowl."

"Yes."

The smile that claimed Bluestreak's face was reward enough; the quick squeeze the youngling gave his armor even more so. Prowl watched Bluestreak dart to the saboteur's side, his faceplates softer than he intended. His gaze followed the two as they crossed the small room to the door.

Once there, Jazz glanced back at him and, to the Praxian's great surprise, gave him a short, approving nod.

… … …

Prowl had only been online a mere three breems the next orn when, surprisingly, the entry request tone sounded. Startled – neither Ironhide or Jazz ever bothered with such niceties – Prowl stood respectfully and granted entry to the mystery Autobot before he bothered to scan for a spark signature.

To his immense surprise, the regal form of Optimus Prime strode through the open portal. Not letting his shock at how the Prime would take the risk of coming to see him by himself, Prowl dipped his head respectfully as was due a mech of the Prime's status.

"Prime, it is an honor."

Optimus hesitated mid-step just for an astrosecond as if caught off guard by the highly polite and formal tone of the greeting. "Greetings Prowl." He looked down at Bluestreak who was staring at him with wide optics. "Hello Bluestreak."

As if drawn by a magnetic force, Bluestreak walked closer to the blue and red mech that towered over him. "You… you feel different than other 'bots. But you are _huge…_ Why aren't I afraid of you?"

Prowl watched with muted surprise – and a sense of warm awe he never expected to feel – as the Prime of Cybertron dropped gracefully to one knee, putting him as close as possible to the youngling who was absolutely _tiny_ in comparison. It was clear one hundred percent of Optimus' attention was on the sparkling. Prowl stilled even his vents, not wanting to risk breaking the moment.

He did nothing to show it outwardly, but Prowl found he was pleased that Bluestreak was getting the opportunity to spend time with the _Prime_. Not many mechs had the privilege to grow up at the pedes of a Prime.

"I bear the Matrix, little one." The Prime was explaining with infinite gentleness. "That is what you are feeling."

"Oh…okay." Bluestreak's head canted to the side. "Um, what is a Matrix?"

The sound of a soft chuckle escaped the Prime's engine. "It is a Prime's link to Primus. It contains the wisdom of all the Primes who came before and helps me, as Prime, to lead our people."

"All Cybertronians?"

It was asked with all the innocence a youngling could generate, but it made Prowl's vents hitch, especially as Optimus' optics dimmed slightly with sadness. "At one time, yes. But sadly, there are some Cybertronians who have seen fit to fight against, not just me but all those who hold to the same ideals I am honor-bound to uphold."

For the first time since his initial greeting, Optimus lifted his optics to Prowl, but the tactician was unaware of his regard as Prowl's head was dipped, his gaze averted.

"Ideals? What is that?" Bluestreak asked, bobbing excitedly on his pedes.

That brought a warm smile back to the Prime's faceplates as he refocused on the youngling. "Ideals are guiding principles. They are ideas that define what we believe and who we are at spark."

Little doorwings quivered as the youngling considered that. Then, suddenly he rushed forward a few steps, earnestness tensing his frame. "I want an ideals."

The warmth in the Prime's optics was mesmerizing to Prowl as he rested a few fingers of one hand on the youngling's helm, not correcting the poor grammar. "A good goal to have. You can start with one and then add to it as you mature." Bluestreak nodded eagerly. "Why don't you start with honesty. It takes courage to be honest no matter the consequences. As an adult there may come a time where speaking all of the truth is not an option, but for now you should always speak the truth because it helps us to take care of you better."

Prowl found a smile was struggling to break his control as Bluestreak nodded, optics wide with awe. "Alright."

Then Optimus looked up at Prowl and slowly stood. Prowl kept his gaze slightly lowered, feeling the raw power of authority radiating off of the Prime. It was the same strength he had felt in the hanger and then again in the interrogation cell. But it was different, more intense almost. And it was rather disconcerting to be the focus of that attention. In a strange, illogical, way it had almost been easer to deal with it while he was a bound prisoner; at least then he knew exactly what was expected of him. At the moment there were too many gray areas.

The warmth that had filled the Prime's gaze faded, hardening into that of a firm leader dealing with a potential threat.

The sudden urge – need – to suppress a keen at sensing that transition nearly rocked Prowl to his core. He kept silent, refusing to let his frame move in any way that would betray his internal struggle.

"Congratulations Prowl, on passing the first stage of your integration."

Still not trusting himself to speak, Prowl bowed his helm in acknowledgement.

"Your first patrol will be later this orn… with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, I understand." Bluestreak scurried out of Optimus' way as he took a small step towards the older Praxian.

"Yes, sir."

"I understand you have a history with them."

Still not meeting the Prime's gaze directly, Prowl nodded once. "From before the war, sir."

Optimus Prime considered him for a moment. "Yes. While they might be two of the harder personalities to work with – and are perhaps loose cannons most of the time – they are two of our most effective frontline warriors when they aren't taking foolish risks."

Prowl stiffened. Why was the Prime telling him this?

When he said nothing, Optimus continued. "But then, that tendency is probably why they agreed to take you with them."

Prowl flinched minutely then had to stamp down frustration with himself for letting that slip. "If it is deemed such a foolish risk to let me go on patrol, why take it, sir?"

Optimus actually smiled at that. "Because that is the only way to confirm or disprove that risk."

Then the Prime grew deadly serious, the intensity of his gaze actually sharper than it had been before and Prowl fought a shudder. "The Decepticons have picked up activity in the sector you will be patrolling. There will possibly be a chance for you to return to them." It was clear the Prime did not miss the way Prowl's doorwings stiffened in alarm. "Just know, I seldom send the Twins out without backup – just in case they decide to give into their more juvenile ideas and get into trouble. That will certainly be the case today."

Prowl narrowed his optics, thoroughly confused. "Backup?"

As if not noticing the Praxian's increasing perplexity, Optimus nodded. "Springer and Hound. Good scouts, decent marksmen. They know how to do what needs to be done. You know of them?"

Nodding cautiously, Prowl accessed the data from his memory banks on the Autobots. "Yes. They are known for not backing down, even in unfavorable conditions."

The light in Optimus' cerulean optics flickered with some indefinable emotion. "Indeed. They are also used to watching the Twin's backs."

"Why are you telling me this, Prime?" Only a hint of Prowl's increasing internal stress made it to his voice.

If it were possible, Optimus' gaze became even more intense, his voice full of warning. "You are a tactician. I want you to know the variables. Full communications will be restored to you for this mission. You will be able to call for help if you wish. I just wanted to let you know we would be prepared for that."

Prowl's gaze was plastered on the Prime, but the larger mech's expression was closed. Was it a veiled warning – or an indirect display of trust? Perhaps both. He bowed his helm. "Thank you, Prime."

Optimus considered him for a moment then nodded. "You will be debriefed upon your return. Whether that takes place in a prison cell or a briefing room will depend on you. Regardless of which it is, you will do well to remember my admonition to Bluestreak."

To be honest no matter the consequences…Prowl cycled air, stiffening at the implied warning and threat. Even so, he understood where it came from. For a moment he was tempted to just acknowledge the admonition, but from the malaise of listlessness he had felt to some degree or other since Megatron tried to kill him, he felt the first true flicker of a desire to _serve_ again. A desire to have a purpose beyond just existence or the next mission placed before him. However, beyond that, he now found himself suddenly _wanting_ the Prime to believe him.

But the statistics were so highly stacked against that ever happening, Prowl almost kept his vocalizer muted. Only the realization he might never get the chance to speak privately with the _Prime_ again prompted Prowl to speak.

"Understood, Prime." He stumbled slightly, not used to expressing this type of sentiment. "I… I will not abuse the trust you are showing me."

"I am showing you very little trust, Prowl." The Prime's rejoinder was soft but firm.

Prowl lowered his gaze formally. "I know. But you are showing me some. Even if that is all you ever deem me worthy of, I will not betray it."

Optimus considered the Decepticon defector for a long moment, sensing something had changed in the mech since their last encounter… something major. The Matrix was telling him to trust what he was detecting, but Ironhide, Jazz, Red-Alert and Ratchet were advising him to maintain utmost caution.

The Prime spoke slowly. "I believe you mean that, Prowl." Red optics shot up in… surprise? Hope? Optimus was not sure as he continued. "But it will take time to prove it."

Prowl felt his frame relax slightly. He had not expected to be taken seriously. Optimus saw that as well.

"Yes, sir."

Optimus smiled ever so slightly. "May your patrol go well. I will see you again upon your return."

Bluestreak had migrated back to Prowl's side as the Prime turned and left his utilitarian quarters. Prowl watched him go, absently taking the hand Bluestreak slipped into his. But his processors were focused elsewhere. It was time to integrate the carefully prepared coding he had been working on for nearly a decaorn. Coding he had designed in order to help prevent him from ever loosing his ethical footing again.

… … …

Prowl had just finished integrating his new ethics subroutines when Jazz came for him. It was not a complete overhaul, simply a reversion to what they had been as an Enforcer but with a stronger integration matrix to the rest of his primary command codes. In other words, it was now impossible for him to violate the dictates of his moral and ethical programming, even if he wanted to. Ever.

Bluestreak had been worried about the way Jazz had carried himself, sensing something was different, but he had been easily mollified with the promise that he would get to spend a few days with Bumblebee.

It was the first time Prowl had accompanied Bluestreak to the quarters Chromia shared with Ironhide, even though they were on the same level as his own. The Femme greeted Bluestreak warmly and quickly pointed him to where the younger sparkling was quietly playing with a puzzle toy. Once Bluestreak was safely out of the way, Chromia turned now sharp optics onto Prowl with an appraising look the Praxian could not help but flinch his wings slightly at.

"So. You are Prowl." Though said in a neutral tone, nothing could hide the hostility behind her words.

"Yes." Prowl answered calmly, "You are Chromia."

The blue femme took a predatory step towards him, her voice lowering menacingly. "If I see Bluestreak picking up Decepticon tendencies from being in your keeping, I'll makes sure he is removed from your care… _after_ I teach you a lesson."

Prowl blinked, not doubting the threat, though a part of his processor could not help but concede she was a perfect match for Ironhide. He opted for bowing his head slightly. "If that should happen, it is my expectation that such a lesson would prove very painful."

She blinked, her helm jerking back slightly in obvious surprise. Then she growled. "As it should be."

Quickly considering his options, aware a misstep here could have unpleasant consequences Prowl chose the path of least resistance.

"Of course," he agreed neutrally. "Thank you for taking care of him when I am… unavailable. I know he appreciates the time with Bumblebee and has commented more than once on how fair you are with both of them."

"Of course." She blinked again, glancing at Jazz briefly. "It's the least I can do. Now. Don't you have a patrol to run?"

Prowl nodded again, secretly grateful for the dismissal however rude it might be. "Indeed. Good orn, Chromia."

She growled. "Prowl."

Then the door swished, snapping closed in his faceplate.

He released a vent of air, relieved for some reason, to have survived that encounter. Then he became aware Jazz was staring at him oddly from behind his visor. He tilted his helm slightly to look at the saboteur.

"Wow." Jazz smiled suddenly. "Quite the diplomat, aren't ya? I've never seen Chromia thrown off when she was set for a full-on rage before."

Prowl cast the smaller, silver mech a sideways look, unable to keep the irony out of his voice. "Honesty is the best policy is it not?"

When Jazz just stared at him, Prowl looked away, shifting his doorwings slightly. "She spoke frankly with me and I simply acknowledged it as such."

"Right." Jazz said noncommittally. "Well, let's get you to med-bay so Ratch can restore your comm. systems."

Ratchet greeted them in the med-bay, having obviously already been warned of their impending arrival.

"I would say congratulations," the medic greeted without preamble, pointing onto a berth. "Except you are going with the Twins."

Prowl climbed onto the indicated exam berth. "That is not very reassuring, Medic."

"Hmph. It wasn't meant to be."

Prowl held very still as the Autobot CMO reached for him. With swift, firm movements, he felt his communications systems snap online.

Then Ratchet's face was suddenly in front of him, only inches away from his own. The hand that had been working on his neck now rested on his shoulder, pressing him firmly to the table. He was unable to lean away from the medic's intense and, quite honestly, frightening visage.

Knowing his precarious place, Prowl was careful not to struggle in the other mech's hold; demonstrating by action that he acknowledged the CMO's authority.

Ratchet's voice was low, dangerous and so soft that Prowl was the only other individual who heard. "If they come here slagged to pit after this patrol and you aren't here with them at least half as fragged as they are, you will find yourself in the brig so fast, with your frame stripped of all usable parts to fix them, and in nothing but your bare protoform left to face whatever Jazz or Ironhide plan after that. I sure as _pit_ won't bother being nice when I fix you. Got it?"

Prowl's optics had widened through the barely audible rant, primarily because he did not doubt the medic's sincerity. Nor did he doubt that Ratchet thought there a real likelihood he would betray the Twins and that this warning was absolutely necessary.

Prowl released a vent, a part of him still thinking that perhaps, some orn, they would trust him enough to know he did not need to be threatened into obedience… especially now with the new programming in effect.

It was desire to be believed that spurred his next words. "Understood, sir. And should events transpire as you fear I will accept that consequence."

Ratchet's optic shutters gave a few spasmodic blinks then he backed off, considering Prowl for a long moment. "I'm going to release your weapons controls as well. If you even arm your weapons while on base – unless under a _Decepticon_ attack – not only will the systems be locked faster than you can say 'metal smelter' they will be forcibly removed from your frame and you will be left defenseless."

"Understood." Prowl sighed air through his vents. He wanted to tell them that the continued threats were unnecessary, but logically he knew that in their optics he was still a Decepticon and therefore not to be trusted. It was like the Prime had said: it would take time to prove otherwise.

Ratchet considered the Praxian closely then reached forward and reconnected the controls so Prowl could access his weapons. Then he turned his gaze on Jazz. "He's all yours."

Jazz, who had crossed his arms over his chassis, leaning his hip joint against a nearby berth to watch the whole thing, freed one hand to point to the door, gesturing widely. "Let's go meet your new teammates, Prowler."

Prowl stamped down the urge to frown and glare at the nickname and managed to keep his expression neutral as he followed Jazz to an auxiliary briefing room.

The twin frontliners were already there by the time they reached the briefing room. Jazz smiled easily when he walked in.

"Sunny, Sides! How ya doin' mechs?" Jazz stepped to the side, waving a hand at Prowl. "This here is Prowl. Prowl; Sunstreaker and Sideswipe."

The grin on the silver minibot's faceplate was not pleasant or very friendly. It was more tense, but Prowl did not get a chance to attempt to ascertain the nuances of the saboteur's subtle facial clues as to his inner thoughts because Sideswipe was suddenly in front of him.

The deadly frontliner's expression was anything but welcoming. "So… Prowl. We meet again."

"Apparently so." Was all Prowl could manage, feeling what energon was in his tanks start to churn.

"Yeah." Sideswipe circled around him and Prowl turned slightly to keep the prowling mech in his sight. " 'Cept this time _we're_ the ones in charge. Not you."

Prowl did not like the smile Sideswipe was wearing and suddenly found himself hoping he would even survive this patrol. "Understood."

An angry engine growled deep in the golden Twin's chassis. "Don't think we agreed to babysit you out of the goodness of our sparks…"

"What goodness?" Sideswipe interrupted his brother and Prowl could not tell if the silver mech was serious or playful.

Sunstreaker did not seam to care, he acknowledged the comment with nothing more than a glance at his twin. "That's beside the point."

Sideswipe shrugged and Sunstreaker turned his attention back to Prowl with frightening intensity. "We agreed because if you try anything we won't hesitate to end you… and you are well aware that we _can._"

"Understood." Prowl released a wary vent, seriously considering the possibility of going back to his quarters – or even the brig – rather than continue this patrol. But if this was the only way he could prove himself… the only way he would be allowed to help defeat Megatron and end the war…

He would just have to find some way to survive the next few orn.

* * *

_Yes, I have Sideswipe as being silver here… 'cause that was Bay's verse and that's the image I have in my head. Sorry to everyone out there who were expecting him to be red like the cartoon. As always, I am eager for your feedback._


	9. First Patrol

_**Warning:** One actual cuss word… but, given the context, it's not that much of a surprise._

* * *

According to the tablet Prowl had been given on Autobot protocols, patrols were organized into two to three-orn long cycles. While he had been given energon, including rations for the patrol itself, before they had left, it was not enough to completely fill his tanks, let alone last the entire length of the patrol. At full rations any way, which meant they intended to keep him at approximately half-rations as they had been since his arrival. He would have to be judicious about when he consumed his energon or he would risk being dangerously low if they ran into any problems.

The Twins did not seem to have that issue.

Prowl was tempted to feel resentment, but knew that would be illogical and highly counterproductive not just to the mission but also to his chances of surviving it. He was still not trusted, hence limiting his fuel rations was a universally acceptable way of limiting his movements and decreasing the likelihood he would cause trouble because to do so would endanger his very existence.

Thus he did not respond – or even allow himself to appear in any way affected – as the Twins mocked and harassed him while they imbibed far more energon than they strictly required. It was a cycle that repeated every time they decided to take another, wholly unnecessary, two or three breem break.

It was getting repetitive and was rather irritating, and Prowl knew it was intentionally so. It was in the Twins' nature to do something so…demeaning and so it was not worth commenting on, let alone responding to.

Not that Prowl's lack of response discouraged them in any way. If anything, it seemed to make them bolder. Prowl had no other option however.

Like now.

It was near the end of their first orn out on patrol and the Twins had stopped for the seventh time. Prowl stood at a stiff parade rest, keeping his sensors and most of his attention focused on the surrounding area seeing as the Twins were not doing much in that regard as they lounged laxly.

They were moving further into a sector that showed evidence of increased Decepticon activity and it was the height of irresponsibility that neither Sunstreaker nor Sideswipe were taking it more seriously. The risks of running into an ambush increased with every klick traveled.

Using what he knew of Decepticon tactics, combined with the quickly accumulating data his sensors were proving and what he knew of the area, Prowl's battle and tactical computers were gradually piecing together a picture that was not encouraging.

They were heading into a trap. A trap that could exist an any of several points along their intended route.

He glanced at his two 'teammates.'

"What's wrong Prowlie?" Sideswipe crowed, noticing they had his attention again. "Your tanks a little low?" The last word was said with a theatric deepening of the mech's voice.

Prowl released a vent, rapidly counting to two thousand in his processor to keep from saying something he should not.

"Cybercat got your glossa?" Sunstreaker sneered. "You keep ignoring us and we'll take offence."

"Yeah, and you wouldn't want that would you." Sideswipe finished.

Gritting his own denta Prowl focused on the mission and his duty. Like it or not, these two narcissistic, immature, reckless, pit-spawn were in charge of this patrol. He answered to them and that was a very, very difficult chip to integrate "I believe there is a high probability that we are heading into a trap. Perhaps we should utilize a higher degree of stealth for the remainder of our mission."

"I think he's scared." Sideswipe piped up after a moment. "Look at that, he's all but trembling in his armor."

"Tacticians aren't any good in a firefight." Sunstreaker flicked a hand derisively.

Prowl huffed, releasing a long, over heated intake of air as he tried to cool his systems. With a low rev of his engine he turned his gaze away from the annoying duo. At this rate, they were going to get themselves killed and probably take him with them.

It was obvious they were not truly interested in fulfilling their mission; to discover if there was any Decepticon activity and then to determine what it was. No, they were more interested in harassing him, as if that _alone_ was their mission. He was not going to let himself be so distracted, however. If his former faction was up to something, he fully intended to discover what.

A small piece of metal debris plinked off his armor.

Prowl's hands curled into a fist and he swung his gaze back to the offending Sideswipe. "Oooh, did I scratch your paint?"

"Who cares." Sunstreaker took another long swig of energon. "Worst, most boring color scheme I've ever seen."

"Except Megatron." Sideswipe pointed out.

"Yeah, except him." Sunstreaker conceded after a moment's thought. "His is the dullest, most lifeless _gray_ ever. Ugh."

They continued their inane bantering and Prowl went back to his calculations and planning.

Having not been given preliminary data on their patrol sector, Prowl had to base his strategic planning on his personal knowledge of the location, his familiarity of the Decepticons and what his sensors were currently telling him. It was not a complete tactical picture, but it was better than nothing. It was better than barreling into an ambush without a clue.

Which is what his battle computer screamed at him that the Twins were doing, so wrapped up in their juvenile games and tauntings.

When they finally decided it was time to move on, he followed dutifully in his place at the rear of their inverted triangle-shaped formation, with the Twins parallel in the lead. Again, his attempts to warn of an impending ambush were rebuffed.

They quickly passed the first possible site of said trap and, when it did not materialize, Prowl recalculated. That increased the probability that one of the other possible locations would be it. He warned them again, and again his warning was blown off. Sideswipe even made an inane comment about how that sounded like 'fun.'

The fourth time he was ignored completely and the two frontliners only gunned their engines, accelerating to a speed _beyond_ reckless in the situation. Prowl growled lowly to himself and increased his own speed, though just enough to keep them on the edge of optical sensor range.

As it was clear the Twins were going to ignore his warning, his battle and tactical computers had produced another approach. It was an approach that depended on him not getting caught in the ambush. Thus he fell back, breaking from his place in the formation.

As he struggled desperately to find a way to ensure that not only he, but the Twins as well survived this orn, he remembered Optimus' unusual briefing. Then he hesitated for just a sparkbeat. While at the moment he did not really care if the Twins were sent to the Well of AllSparks, he did not really want even their deaths on his conscience. Not to mention Ratchet's threat rang in his audios.

Accessing his long-range communications systems he sent a tight comm. to the two mechs he knew were tailing them. _/Hound, Springer. This is Prowl./_

_/Why the pit are you talking to us, 'Con?/_ It was Hound.

Prowl ignored the challenge and distrust that was clear in the other's transmission and gave his report. _/There is an 89.76% chance that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are heading directly into a trap. They are refusing to be cautious in their approach./_

Springer's dismissive laugh echoed over the signal. _/Yeah, well, 'cautious' isn't their style./_

_/So I have noticed./_ Prowl drew in another vent of air. _/Depending on the severity of the ambush, we might be in need of your assistance./_

_/If they need us, we'll be there./_

Prowl did not miss that support was being offered to the Twins but not to him. Regardless, he compressed his calculations on the three most likely scenarios his tactical computer had calculated, along with various options for their deployment in conjunction with his own.

_/Acknowledged. These are the most likely attack patterns I predict the Decepticons will take, along with some recommended courses of counter attack./_ He released the vent of air surprised at how difficult it was to utter his next transmission. _/Just let me know what you wish to do and I will follow orders./_

_/And why should we believe you, 'Con?/_ Springer demanded heatedly, as if the mere idea was insulting.

It felt like a slap across the faceplate, reminding Prowl where he truly stood among the Autobots. He had to accelerate again to keep up with the Twins as they swung around a curve in the street.

With another sigh of air he reactivated his comm. _/Very well. While I understand you have no cause to trust me, please at least review the information and make your own judgment and not dismiss it entirely just because of its origin./_

Before either Autobot could respond, the distinct sound of energy weapon's fire reached Prowl's audios. Reacting instinctively, he cut the connection so he could focus. "Slag!"

The Praxian put on a burst of speed and rounded the corner the Twins had just disappeared behind. It was not at the top of the list of probable ambush sites, but it was close. Number two, actually. Cautiously, Prowl transformed without slowing, using the momentum to carry him behind the cover of a long dilapidated building.

He pulled his riffle out of subspace, flaring his doorwings to bring in every scrap of available data. Almost in the background, his tactical computer filtered, analyzed and prioritized everything that came in. He found the Twins, pinned down in the shallow basin created by the debris of a collapsed building.

Because of the way the metal husk of the structure was shaped, there was only one entrance accessible via alternate mode. Every other exit required transformation into base mode and the need to climb over unstable footing all the while leaving one exposed to enemy fire. It was an excellent place for an ambush. A perfect place to be killed. A _stupid_ trick to fall for.

He silently cursed at the Twins, refocusing on them. Sunstreaker's golden frame was prone on the ground, unmoving. Sideswipe stood protectively over his brother, using his own body to physically shield him.

Quickly Prowl transmitted the data he had already collected back to Hound and Springer. Then he crept forward, using sensors and optics to look for the enemies' position. Identifying them relatively quickly, thanks to the sheer volume of plasma fire lancing at the two damaged frontliners, Prowl took aim with his own rifle.

His aim was true, but the acid pellet only struck a piece of armor, not the vulnerable armor seam he had aimed for. Yes, the Decepticon screamed in pain, but he was not offlined. It was a mere fact of physics that physical projectiles were not as accurate over longer distances as plasma weapons. Of course, the trade off was that acid did not need to be as accurate to be effective.

Shifting position, he took aim at another Decepticon and fired again. This one was closer and the shot was doubtlessly fatal as he dropped behind a metal beam.

Unfortunately, his actions only served to alert the Decepticons that they had yet another target. Within moments the metal debris he had taken shelter behind was being eaten away by overheated plasma. He grunted as a blast caught his left doorwing, sending searing hot pain across his neural grid.

With a barely breathed curse, Prowl cut pain sensors to the damaged doorwing and broke cover and dashed to the two Autobots in the center of the clearing. He joined Sideswipe, sanding on Sunstreaker's other side, to shield the golden Twin from enemy fire.

"How kind of you to join us." Sideswipe growled darkly.

"I apologize for the delay." Prowl did not bother to keep the touch of cynicism out of his voice, firing at another enemy mech who strayed too far from cover. Then he hissed as another blast of energy glanced off his chassis armor only seconds before his right leg was also scored.

"However, I figured that if you two were going to plow helm-first into an ambush, at least one of us should be far enough behind to get the lay of the enemy positions." Prowl continued in a forcibly calm voice, completely at odds with the situation.

"If you knew it was a trap, why didn't you stop us?" Sideswipe demanded hotly. "Hoping your friends would finish us off?"

Prowl grunted, his engine revving irritably, though he deemed it a waste of time they did not have to argue the point that he _had_ warned them. Repeatedly.

Just then more blaster fire erupted, only this time it was not aimed at them, but at the Decepticons. Hound and Springer had arrived.

With a feral smile that barely made it to his faceplate, Prowl looked at the frontliner and databurst him the enemies' locations. "This is where they are, this is where our back up is. Do you have ranged weapons?"

"I don't like guns. To impersonal. I like my knives." Sideswipe transformed an arm to demonstrate.

Prowl hastily made additional calculations even as he targeted yet another Decepticon. "And I take it you will not trust me to stand guard over Sunstreaker so you may put those blades to use?"

"Not till after the _pit_ rusts over." Sideswipe spit.

Prowl gave a short, single bitter laugh at the irony. They were still standing back to back, Sunstreaker between them. Prowl fired again, taking out yet another Decepticon. He was still taking damage as well, but it was nothing compared to the Twins, especially Sunstreaker.

Prowl's battle computer was running wildly, trying to find a solution that would still give them victory. Just as it was almost there, Hound's transmission interrupted. _/We can't get all of them, there are too many…/_

The calculations finished, the solution was at hand. Prowl cut off the green scout. _/Yes we can./_ He transmitted the file to all three conscious mechs.

It gave them a 92.36% chance of victory, with acceptable damages to their side.

Behind him, Sideswipe growled, all levity gone from his voice. "We didn't ask for your input."

"I am a tactician. This is what I do." Prowl both said and transmitted to the two who could not hear him.

"You are a _Decepticon_." Sideswipe countered. "This is just as likely to get us all dead as it is to end in victory."

Prowl growled, instilling the noise with a surprising amount of frustration and anger. "Why would I put myself in danger if I was one of them?" It was as much demand as it was a question.

"They won't hurt one of their own." Sideswipe said with such conviction, it made Prowl pause momentarily.

Then he growled again, more forcefully, taking out his growing frustration and anger on a convenient Decepticon who strayed too far from cover. "I've _already_ sustained damage."

"Nothing major!" Sideswipe snapped back. "You even left Sunny and I to take fire alone."

Prowl snapped his denta closed, muting his vocalizer so harshly it emitted static and actually sparked slightly. The silver mech was right about one thing. He was not seriously damaged… nothing immediately life-threatening at least.

Another blast pierced his doorwing and, even with his pain grid off, that blow dropped him to his knees. Damaged to the point where sensory feed was completely disrupted, giving him only hints of data that was slightly out of synch with everything else, Prowl felt partly blind; fuzzy.

He took out the Decepticon responsible for delivering the injury and almost spit into the comm. line. _/If we are going to act, we need to do so within the next few astroseconds./_

Hound's voice came back almost immediately. _/No. It's too risky. We have more Con signals on our sensors. We have to get Sunstreaker out of there./_

Prowl growled again, but kept his earlier word to follow orders and glanced over his shoulder at Sideswipe. "Go, I'll cover you."

Prowl pointed to where Hound and Springer were concealed.

Sideswipe snarled something inarticulate at him, but nevertheless grabbed his twin and hauled his golden half out of the kill-box. Prowl followed closely, keeping up a steady barrage of fire to help shield their retreat.

Once they reached Hound and Springer's location, the two completely uninjured Autobots immediately took Sunstreaker between them and took off, as quickly as they could. Sideswipe glanced at Prowl, sneered again and took off after the mechs carrying his brother.

With a sigh, Prowl followed.

… … …

They had found a secluded nook tucked inside the ruins of yet another dilapidated building. It was the first semi-suitable location where Springer could attempt to stabilize Sunstreaker for transport back to Iacon. But Prowl was not happy. It was far too close to the enemy's location, it was far too easy to find and it was far too indefensible.

He watched Springer work, Sideswipe kneeling anxiously on his brother's other side, lending a hand whenever he could. Hound stood next to Prowl, likewise watching the field repairs.

Prowl did not like the confined space, the inability to detect anyone's approach from inside and his own sensory fuzziness because of his damage.

He looked at Hound, speaking quietly so as not to distract Springer. "Where were the other Decepticon signals coming from?"

Hound pointed. "Twenty klicks that way, from the borderland plains. There were ten of them."

Prowl nodded, adding that information into his calculations. "They are up to something. This is dangerously close to Iacon."

Hound nodded, clearly just as unhappy.

Prowl checked his weapon, ensuring its power source was fully charged. He paused the movements of the standard weapon's check when he noticed Hound tense uneasily at them. He released a vent and lowered the weapon, looking back at the injured Twins. His tactical computer kept throwing warnings across his CPU about the fact that their hiding place was in imminent danger of being overrun.

"We can't stay here." He said out loud, once he had calculated the most likely timeframe for when the Decepticons would discover their location.

Hound turned a hot glare at him. "We can't move 'till Sunny is stable or we could kill him."

"If we stay, we could _all_ die." Prowl's engine growled, which attracted the brief attention of the two mechs working on Sunstreaker.

"You are a cold-sparked bastard." Hound bit out.

Doorwings twitching at the insult, Prowl turned to his next priority. "If we are going to stay, we might as well continue the mission."

With that, he turned and started to walk out of their hideout. Hound stopped him with a green hand on his arm. "Where the pit do you think you're going?"

Prowl gave him a perfectly neutral look, though it took quite a bit of effort to maintain that neutrality. "Our mission was to find out what is going on, what the Decepticon troop movements are if any in this sector." He pointed back towards the ambush site. "Clearly there is Decepticon activity. We have yet to determine its significance."

The hand tightened on his arm. "We can't risk Sunny…"

"I am _not_ risking Sunstreaker." Prowl cut him off. "I am risking myself. But Iacon Command needs as much information as we can provide them."

Hound, to his credit considered those words seriously. Then he looked at their make-shift medic. "Springer, how long?"

Springer did not even bother to glance up at the address. "At least half a joor."

Prowl frowned, they did not have that long. His calculations showed that they would be overridden about five breems before half a joor was up. If all of them were in this alcove when that happened it would be a death trap.

But Hound was looking at him again. "If you aren't back by then, we will assume you have betrayed us and consider you an enemy."

Prowl smirked slightly, though it was not pleasant. "An assumption you have already made." He hesitated momentarily, expression falling back into an emotionless mask. "This location will be found before half a joor is up."

Hound's expression hardened. "You don't know that."

"Yes, I do." Prowl's gaze was intense, willing the green scout to believe him.

Hound actually paused before speaking, clearly considering Prowl's warning. "Yet you will leave anyway, leaving us that much more undefended?"

"There is no defense in here." Prowl had to stop himself from growling. "And if we are all going to go down, one of us should at least _attempt_ to complete the mission and report the intel back to base."

He took another step, pulling out of Hound's grip, then looked back, his optics blazing. "There is still a way for all of us to get out of this alive – _and_ complete our mission. I _am_ going to see that it happens, regardless of the fact that none of you think you can trust me."

Without giving any of them a chance to respond he transformed and drove off.

Springer was staring at the retreating mech. "That was downright scary."

Hound huffed, turning his back on the Decepticon defector to look at the others on his team. "I don't think we can trust him. He may lead them right to us."

Sideswipe made a face at that, then seemed to deflate. "Look, I'm no fan of the mech or anything, but he did help me cover Sunny. And he took damage doing so, even if it wasn't that bad."

Hound thought for a moment, then shrugged though his optics remained serious. "We will just have to wait and see."

… … …

Prowl was fairly confident he knew when the Decepticons would find the hidden Autobots and accordingly calculated the best way to get done what needed to be done with time to return and help defend them. Unfortunately, it made him a little uneasy.

As stealthily as possible – which was aided by the fact he still had a Decepticon ID signal – he returned to the ambush site. This time, however, he did not blunder into the kill box, but made his way around the outskirts until he came upon the position of some of the Decepticons he had taken out during the firefight.

Most of the frames were already grayed and lifeless. However, he did find one that was not completely gone to the Well of AllSparks.

Dim, ruby optics flickered up at him. "Just finish it." The mech rasped out.

Prowl knelt next to the mortally wounded Decepticon. "If that is your wish. However, I need something first."

"Go to pit." The red optics brightened slightly, struggling to focus and the mech flinched away. "You… you're a traitor!"

"Not true. _Megatron_ betrayed Cybertron." He reached for the damaged mech's data port. "I will not waste your time or mine."

With that he plugged his chord into the Decepticon, prepared for a mental attack. But the mech was so badly damaged that there was no defense to speak of. It did not take long for Prowl to get the information he needed and he ignored everything else. As much as he did not enjoy the feeling of another mind in his, he disliked being the foreign mind even more.

By the time he withdrew his cord, his tanks felt like they were going to purge, though it was not a physical discomfort.

"You just going to leave me here to suffer?" The mech rasped, the anger in his weak voice something Prowl well understood.

Prowl considered him. "Decepticon medics do not use their time on mechs as badly damaged as you and we have no medics on our team, let alone any with the skill to save your life."

"Tell me something I don't know." The words were probably intended to be sharp and biting but were little more than a haggard whisper. "Just put me out of my misery."

For a long sparkbeat Prowl raised his weapon, taking aim, but he could not pull the trigger. If he were in the mech's position… the haunting echoes of the other's suffering, which he had felt during the hack flicked across his processor… he would also wish for a swift end.

But he knew, unequivocally, shooting the Decepticon was _wrong_.

With a huff of air through his vents, he lowered his weapon and knelt again, reaching for the primary neural controls at the base of the damaged mech's neck. "I will not murder you, but I can ease your passing in to the Well."

With movements that were not quite as deft as a medic's, Prowl slipped the mortally wounded Decepticon into stasis. It would not prevent his death, there was nothing Prowl could do to save him, but it would prevent him from feeling the pain associated with it. Even knowing it was the greatest mercy he could provide, Prowl still felt his tanks churn.

Once those red optics darkened into stasis, Prowl stood. He looked around, but it was just for his own safety. He had what he needed and it was time to return to the others.

… … …

The sound of weapon's fire as Prowl neared the Autobot's refuge site spurred the Praxian to drive even faster. They had been discovered earlier than he had anticipated. Prowl rounded the last corner and slowed, transforming to take in the situation. He counted four Autobot signals from inside the structure, two Decepticons also inside and then the two outside.

His battle computer raced as it developed a strategy. He knew he had to take care of the two outside before he could deal with those inside and had to hope the others could hold their own until he could get to them.

Opting for stealth, Prowl subspaced his rifle and pulled his energon daggers out of their sheaths. Moving with the grace and soundlessness it had taken decavorns to perfect, and with the elegant deadliness of a highly trained fighter very few individuals were allowed to observe, Prowl was on top of the two unsuspecting Decepticons before they even knew they were in danger.

A swift stroke to one, slicing through his armor to sever the major energon feed to his processor had one mech dropping to the ground in a near soundless heap. Flowing from that attack directly into a strike that plunged his dagger hilt deep into the second Decepticon's spark chamber, Prowl was already moving into the building.

Unfortunately the Decepticon he came accross somehow managed to block his first strike. Prowl traded blows briefly before getting the opening he needed and the third Decepticon joined the other two in the Well of AllSparks.

Their scuffle, brief as it had been, was enough to alert the final Decepticon to his presence. Disregarding any attempt at stealth now, Prowl retracted his daggers and aimed his rifle.

Orange plasma grazed his shoulder and Prowl threw himself to the side, instincts bringing his own weapon up to sight on the enemy. Taking a fraction of an astrosecond to confirm his target, Prowl fired. Though the mech went down under the barrage of potent acid, it did nothing to stop the shot he had managed to fire before he was felled from striking Prowl, searing through the wiring of his left leg.

Rerouting the neural impulses and shutting down what pain receptors he was able, Prowl straightened. He made his way to where the others were still waiting. Thankfully, he still detected four spark signatures. All Autobot.

… … …

Hound, Springer and Sideswipe exchanged confused and startled glances as the barrage of enemy fire suddenly lifted, leaving an almost eerie silence screaming in their ears. Except that it was not truly silent.

Almost distantly, they could hear the sound of metal striking metal. But that only lasted mere astroseconds before more weapons' fire filled in the void. Then, almost before they could register the sounds, it was again silent.

"What the…?" Sideswipe breathed, one hand splayed over his lacerated and scorched plating, attempting to stem the loss of energon until his repair systems could reroute the flow.

Surprisingly quiet pede falls heralded the victor of the mystery fight' approach. A familiar silhouette soon framed the opening, red optics glowing brightly in the deepening darkness of night.

Springer hefted his weapon slightly, shifting to better cover Sunstreaker's prone frame. "Okay. Not the back up we asked HQ for."

To the surprise of all three, however, Prowl subspaced his rifle, holding his hands up non-threateningly.

"Is anyone injured?" The question was asked so blandly that it was almost infuriating.

"No slag genius!" Sideswipe bit out. "Where have you been?"

The Praxian gave no visible reaction to the frontliner's rudeness. "Completing our mission and saving your afts, apparently. Again."

"Really?" There was no disguising the open suspicion in the silver warrior's voice as he stepped around Hound to glare optic to optic with Prowl. "Or was this something you set up so we'd trust you?"

Prowl could only stare at Sideswipe for a long moment. "You believe that?"

Hound put a restraining hand on the impetuous Twin's shoulder. "We aren't sure what to believe. You understand?"

Prowl's hard, cold stare was evidence he did _not_ understand. Springer hastened to clarify, not liking the way the 'Con was clenching his hands. "Somehow you knew about the ambush. You knew they'd find us here… yet you arrive just in time at both to save the orn? What are we supposed to think?"

Engine revving before he could stop it, Prowl struggled silently for a long moment to tamp down the frustration he was feeling, knowing it could get him killed. "That I know how to do my function." His voice was tight, biting and curt. "I am a tactician. That means I figure stuff like that out."

Hound shook his helm, shrugging in an almost helpless manner. "Smoky's never been able to predict things _that_ accurately. Nor is he able to come up with ways of counter attacking the 'Cons that quickly."

Prowl's engine growled and he forced himself to step backwards slightly, continuing to signal that he was not a threat. "That does not mean I am on their side.

Hound followed his short retreat with a mirroring step forward; it was a deliberate move, a silent positioning of himself as the commander of their group. "Maybe." The green scout conceded. "But it just seems a little too good to be true, you know? You can't deny it's suspicious… at least from our point of view."

Acquiescing to the position Hound's posturing had put him in, Prowl forced himself to consider that statement. He was reminded that these were front line warriors who had no experience with any other tactician besides Smokescreen. And he had been, until very recently, a Decepticon whom they had every reason to distrust. As much as he did not want to admit it, he could understand; perhaps it would be seen as being too good to be true.

He forced the tension in his frame to bleed out, relaxing into a more submissive posture. "There are more Decepticons on the way." He spoke quietly, respectfully. "If it is safe to move Sunstreaker, we should do so."

Hound blinked at him, as if surprised by his capitulation. "We have back up on the way as well."

Prowl's gaze came back up. "I know where the Con's base of operations are in this sector. If you have any aerials inbound, I believe this is the best approach to taking out their camp." Prowl transmitted the file.

Not to Prowl's true surprise, Hound frowned. "I'll pass that on. But don't expect them to act on it just 'cause you said to."

"I assume nothing of the sort." Prowl answered quietly.

Springer spoke up then. "Sunny's as good as I can get him. We need to move."

As Prowl was the least damage of the bunch, he wordlessly moved to assist Springer with carrying the severely damaged Twin.

They had barely made it less than a klick when the sound of more engines cut through the night air. Prowl tensed, scanning for a faction ID and found none. Reacting on instinct and guarded caution, he unsubspaced his rifle and readied himself.

He was not prepared when Hound stepped in front of him, anger blazing in his blue optics. "Stand down, Prowl. Those are ours."

Prowl blinked, scanning the approaching mechs again. "Are you sure? I detect no faction modulators or spark signatures."

"They are wearing dampeners." Hound pointed to his external comm., by way of explaining how he knew who they were, and powered his own weapon, aiming it at Prowl. "Stand down."

Prowl considered his options, realizing that Springer and Sideswipe had also taken up threatening postures. Recognizing he had no other option, he subspaced his rifle and opened his now empty hands.

Unfortunately, the approaching team chose that moment to arrive on the scene.

All five new Autobots instantly read the stance of their compatriots and jumped to the most logical conclusion. With commendable speed, five more weapons were spinning to life, pointed at one lone Praxian.

Increasingly worried about his continued existence, especially when he recognized Hardstrike, the new arrivals' obvious commander, Prowl struggled to maintain his neutral facade. Hardstrike was rumored to be much like Ironhide, though without the advanced age that the weapons specialist boasted that might lend extra wisdom. Nor did he have a sparkling to give them a reason to hesitate in taking him out. Processors spinning wildly in an attempt to extract himself from his sudden predicament, Prowl did the only thing he could think of to ensure some nervous, trigger-happy Autobot did not shoot him.

He crossed his wrists in front of him and dropped slowly to his knees. It was the universal sign of surrender. He hoped it was enough to prevent any of the eight Autobots surrounding him from doing him harm.

After a moment, Hardstrike looked at Hound. "So, this one's still an enemy after all?"

Hound looked at the higher-ranking mech, then back at Prowl. "To be honest, I'm not sure what to think."

"Right." Hardstrike thought for a moment. "We'll take him back and let the command team figure it out."

Prowl felt a wave of relief at that, only to stiffen again as Hardstrike stepped forward to tip the barrel of his still armed blaster under his chin, forcing the tactician's gaze upward. "You gonna do anything if we don't stasis cuff you?"

One of the other mechs, whom Prowl could not identify made a scoffing sound. "He's a Decepticon, Commander. We can't trust anything he says."

Hardstrike, clearly the new field commander of the two combined teams, waved his subordinate to silence, still looking at Prowl. "Well?"

Prowl blinked, the mask he had perfected under Megatron to conceal his emotions slipped back into place completely. He would rather not be stasis cuffed. "You will have my cooperation regardless of what you do."

A gray and white optic ridge quirked upward. "Oh? And if I choose to simply blow your helm off?"

The weapon powered up, its barrel growing hot enough to blister the paint on Prowl's chin. Prowl just stared, not entirely sure what emotion was registering as he fully processed the statement. He calculated only a fifty-fifty chance that Hardstrike would _not_ do exactly that.

He wanted to reach up and brush the weapon to the side, knowing he had the ability to both disarm the Autobot and to do so quickly enough that the mech would not be able to take a shot. Yet he did not even budge. He could not.

Prowl's internal panic threatened to well up as he realized he was stuck. It was not so much that his frame would not respond to commands, but that his motor relays simply could not even form the commands. At first he flailed for an explanation, but he knew it almost as soon as he thought about it.

His new ethical programs.

The world spun around Prowl, threatening to upset his balance systems as he stared at Hardstrike for the eternity of several long astroseconds. He had given his word to the Autobot commander. The Autobots were currently identified as allies by his systems, this particular one as being his immediate superiors. His ethical program would not let him willingly break a promise made to either an allied mech or a superior officer.

Prowl's own words had trapped him.

He cycled air through his vents, his engine making odd tiny choking noises. But he had not other choice. He had no given himself any other choice.

For a moment he let angry despair flutter through his spark, but then pushed that aside with aggravated, grim determination. If he survived this, he would need to choose his words more carefully.

Reluctant as he might have been, Prowl had no choice but to follow the dictates of his programming. He had said he would cooperate with whatever Hardstrike chose to do. Thus he cooperated.

Meeting the challenging blue stare with a heated look of his own, Prowl silently tipped his chin up further and slightly to one side, giving the Autobot a clearer shot.

Inside he burned with humiliation and anger, mostly directed at himself this time, outside he was the epitome of calm resignation as he waited for Harstrike to make his decision.

However his cooperation was also a statement, one that Hardstrike obviously understood if the widening of his optics was anything to go by.

After a long moment in which neither mech moved so much as a stray wire – a moment Prowl did not know if he would be allowed to live past – the weapon was powered down.

Hardstrike stepped back. "On your pedes, Prowl. Lets get moving." With a jerk of his helm, the highest ranking Autobot indicated two of the mechs who had come with him. The two mechs moved into position, flanking Prowl who had not moved from his kneeling, submissive posture.

"If he tries anything, shoot him." Hardstrike ordered curtly.

"Yes, sir." They answered in tandem.

Prowl watched silently, trying to calm the unsteady pulsing of his spark, as Hardstrike transformed into a vehicle large enough to allow the unconscious Sunstreaker to be placed on him. Once that was accomplished, all the mechs quickly transformed. Prowl did likewise, followed quickly by his two guards.

It was only the fact that they were a long orn's drive from Iacon that Hardstrike had likely chosen not to cuff him. It would have taken a long, long time to walk the distance. Time Sunstreaker clearly did not have.

Prowl said nothing as he took up his assigned position in the convoy, noting his guards took up positions on either side of him. When they went areas too narrow for more than one mech to transverse side by side, they would shift so that one was in front and one behind. Despite it all, Prowl had to admire the efficiency with which they performed their assigned duties.

Unlike the drive out, there were no stops for breaks. It was a steady, hard trip to get Sunstreaker and the other injured Autobots to proper medical care.

It was only as the klicks fell away under his tires that Prowl's processor snagged on another issue, an issue that was looming larger the closer they traveled to Iacon. It was another promise he had made and would now be unable to violate.

The Twins, and especially Sunstreaker, were far more damaged than he. That was not to say he was undamaged or that the energon he was still leaking from his own wounds would not have him dangerously low within joors of reaching Iacon. The Twins, however, were royally and completely slagged. And he had given his word to the Autobot CMO concerning that eventuality.

Thus there was only one thought, less composed than his normal state of mind, that cycled repeatedly in Prowl's processor as they came within sight of Iacon's primary battlement: _Slagging scrap to the pit and back. Ratchet is going to use me for spare parts._

* * *

_Poor Prowl, right? Kudos to **Sunstarunicorn** for predicting this unintended consequence to Prowl's meddling with his ethics program (ie: loosing an aspect of free will). Also, kudos to **Fianna9** for predicting the next unintended consequence Prowl is going to face… There is a saying, right? That the road to perdition is paved with good intentions? Yeah. Like I said, poor Prowl. :)_

_I know, another long chapter… but I just wanted to get it to a certain point before stopping. At least there was more action this time :). Please review._


	10. Debriefing

Ratchet was in a total fury, his tirade already in full swing by the time Prowl was escorted into the med bay, which was impressive considering the former Decepticon was only a handful of meters behind the Twins, Hound and Springer. He had heard of the rumors concerning the Autobot CMO, rumors that had even Starscream unwilling to get on the medic's bad side.

Unfortunately, this confirmation of those rumors did not lend the tactician any hope as to his own personal future at the said medic's hands.

His two escorts stationed him and themselves to one side, out of the way, as the four Autotbots were reclined on med berths, either under their own power or with assistance.

Leaving the three less damaged soldiers to his junior medics, Ratchet worked on Sunstreaker, cussing and ranting the whole time with a vehemence that would blister even a hardened frontliner's audios. Prowl was left to wait, which was fine with him as his damage was only on a par with what he had gotten during the attack on Praxus.

Praxus…

Prowl shuttered his optics and focused on the physical pain gracing his frame to distract himself from that open emotional wound. His very existence was still too tenuous to allow him to deal with extreme emotions.

He watched with enforced calmness as Ratchet finished stabilizing the golden Twin. The CMO then took a quick tour around the other berths, checking on the mechs occupying them and on his subordinates' work. Once satisfied, sharp cerulean optics locked unwaveringly onto Prowl.

Prowl stiffened as the medic made a beeline for him, noticing that his two escorts discretely stepped away, if not out of the danger zone, at least closer to its perimeter. However his guards stiffened in turn when Prowl moved even the slightest which forcibly reminded Prowl he had very little leeway.

It was by sheer force of will that Prowl did not flinch or protest when rough hands jerked him forward, the larger mech literally lifting him off the ground to all but slam him onto a med berth.

Prowl did not move as sensory energy itched over his frame, unable to take his optics off the medic's furious snarl.

Then Ratchet's optics widened as he took in the damage that _had_ been dealt to the former Decepticon. While not as severe as the other's - it was roughly as bad as what Springer had suffered - plus the added agony inherent in any doorwing injury. It was enough to show that the defector had actually fought alongside the others.

"I am ready, Medic." Prowl said softly but with subdued steel to his voice that was more prominent than usual.

Ratchet blinked at the low, softly spoken words and refocused on the 'patient' still sitting motionlessly in his grip. Red optics turned up slightly to meet his own before falling again.

Ratchet felt a flash of indignation and he growled. "For what? Sunstreaker is my priority here. Not you."

Doorwings flicked slightly, hinting at intense discomfort but never did Prowl attempt to get out of the CMO's grip. "You stipulated I sustain damage of at least fifty-percent that of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. You also outlined very clearly what the consequences would be if I failed to meet that requirement. I estimate my damages are only roughly thirty-percent Sideswipe's and twenty-three-percent Sunstreaker's." He paused for an anstrosecond. "Unless I miscalculated. What is the damage assessment on Sunstreaker?"

Ratchet, optic's wide, answered without thinking. "His right arm is slag and will need replacement from the elbow down. Most of his abdominal plating is burned clear through and I'll need to rebuild his pelvic complex."

Prowl's optics shuttered briefly before he met Ratchet's gaze again. "Then my damage is only eighteen-percent his. I gave you my word I would submit to your salvage efforts if I did not meet your expectations."

And pit, but it was burning his chassis to be all but a slave to his ethical subroutines.

Ratchet was blinking at him in something that looked like shock. "I…"

Prowl grimaced, ignoring the stares his two guards were giving him. If he had no way out of what was coming, he wanted it done as quickly as possible, even if only to salvage what he could of his pride. "I have disconnected primary neural sensory wires to my exo-frame, including my doorwings. You may begin to…"

"No!" The shocked and horrified exclamation from the medic interrupted him. "Prowl… I… I didn't mean… Well, I _did_ mean it, but only if you came back and it was clear you just let them take a beating without helping or slag like that."

Prowl blinked in surprise. He remembered no such mitigating clause, then he stiffened as sensory energy brushed over him again; the CMO confirming his earlier statement about disconnecting his neural sensory grid from his exo-frame.

The ex-Decepticon was clearly damaged. Primus only knew how much pain that doorwing was causing even with the neural grid completely disconnected. Yet here the Praxian was, volunteering for an exo-frame harvest? Just because he had agreed to accept a clearly out of bounds punishment?

Yes, Ratchet remembered the threat, knew he had threatened exactly that. But he had had no real intention of following through with it. Unless, of course, it was clear the former Decepticon had double-crossed them. Then, and _only_ then, would he have done so, and in a sparkbeat.

Ratchet lifted a hand to the smaller mech's shoulder to offer reassurance, but hesitated when anxiousness, perhaps even fear, flashed through red optics. Even so, the Praxian never twitched.

When the hand was friendly, not tearing or prying, those ruby optics widened slightly. Ratchet nodded, confirming Prowl's realization he was not in immediate danger. "While no longer life-threatening, Sunstreaker's condition is serious. Your repairs will have to wait."

Prowl blinked again, doorwings twitching stiffly, then he nodded. "Of course. I understand…. Thank you, Ratchet."

Ratchet smiled ever so slightly, even more briefly, a flicker of understanding and sympathy that surprised the tactician further. Then he straightened, his optics adopting that slightly unfocused look of a mech speaking over his internal comm..

Prowl waited patiently for the medic to finish his conversation and did his best not to react visibly when those bright blue optics finally focused back on him. "Prime wants to see you."

Ratchet looked at his two escorts, then at Prowl, then back to the heavily armored warriors. "I've got it from here, mechs. Dismissed."

The two glanced at each other then one nodded. "Yes, sir."

Within moments both were gone, but Prowl could not relax, especially when Ratchet pinned him with a hard look. "Don't move."

Prowl did not move. He watched, nothing but his optics flicking back and forth in order to follow the CMO as he again moved among his subordinates, assigning tasks and establishing treatment priorities. Sunstreaker was settled into a medical stasis so that his condition would not degrade until Ratchet could return.

Soon enough, perhaps too soon, Ratchet was standing in front of Prowl once again. "Come with me."

Then the medic was moving. Without giving himself the opportunity to think about what might lie in his immediate future, Prowl followed. Silently, Prowl stayed a respectful distance behind Ratchet as he was led through the base, not to the brig where he was half expecting to be taken, but to the operational command deck. Eventually, Ratchet entered a briefing room.

Prowl's vents stalled for just an astrosecond before he stepped fully across the threshold. Optimus Prime was not alone, accompanying him were Jazz, Ironhide, Smokescreen, Ultra Magnus, Red Alert, Blaster and Hardstrike. As Hardstrike was not on the command team, Prowl assumed he was there to be debriefed as well.

The table was solid and well constructed and was, oddly enough, circular in shape. That one, doubtlessly insignificant detail, startled Prowl enough to make him notice it, as Megatron would never have utilized such a table simply because it served to equalize all who sat at it. Upon second thought, Prowl realized it actually made sense in that it also ensured that every mech seated at it would have a clear view of everyone else.

Satisfied and thus dismissing the trivial observation, Prowl looked toward the Prime only to be pointed to one of two empty chairs, one that had enough space on either side to separate its occupant from the others at the table.

"Sit." Prime's deep voice filled the chamber and left no room for argument or even hesitation.

Silently, not letting his sudden tension show, Prowl crossed to the chair and did as ordered. Prime nodded to Jazz, sitting three mechs to Prowl's right, and Prowl felt the chair magnetize, locking him to it. He stiffened subtly, doorwings flaring half a centimeter but no more before he caught himself. This was not a brig, but clearly he was still under suspicion.

Prowl looked at the Prime and nodded ever so slightly, acknowledging his assigned place, his doorwings dipping slightly into a properly submissive stance.

Optimus considered him even more closely then, optics narrowing, carefully looking him over. The large cobalt and crimson mech clearly noted the more obvious injuries Prowl had suffered. Then his gaze shifted to Ratchet with hints of something Prowl almost wanted to call anger flicking across blazing azure optics.

"Why has he not been repaired?" He demanded of his CMO.

Ratchet grimaced. "Necessity." He answered simply and without apology, apparently unperturbed by his leader's irritation; which surprised Prowl anew. Ratchet continued, "There were others far more injured who required immediate interventions. He will survive."

Prime took an astrosecond to consider that then looked back at Prowl. "My apologies, Prowl, I was unaware you had sustained such damages."

A hard look was cast at Hardstrike who, unlike the CMO, ducked his head with an appropriate amount of chagrin.

Prowl, for his part, acknowledged the Prime's statement. "I have lived with worse, sir. And there were others who were in much more need of aid. I am content to wait until their injuries have been seen to."

Prime considered him for a long moment then nodded. "I believe you know why you are here?" Prowl indicated he did. "Please, tell us what happened during your patrol."

Drawing in a full system of air, Prowl did as he was asked. He was precise and succinct but careful to maintain an entirely professional manner. Though he noted how his repeated warnings were dismissed, he did not reveal the constant harassment and teasing the Twins had indulged in simply because, as far as he was concerned it was not truly relevant.

In the interest of full disclosure, he had been careful to include such details as how long the Twins had taken fire before he arrived on the scene of the ambush, as well as the fact that he did not know how long they had been under fire in their hiding place before he had arrived.

Even so, no sooner had the sound of his voice faded into silence than Hardstrike sneered. "He is a Decepticon. He would say anything to get his way."

Prowl stiffened at the accusation, looking down. He was about to quietly accept the verbal barb, understanding where Hardstrike came from. But something stirred, both in his processor and his spark. Silent acceptance had been all he had done since he had been brought to Iacon in an attempt to show he was not a threat. Suddenly it was not enough.

He looked up, something in his gaze drawing everyone's attention though he looked nowhere but at the Prime. "Scan my processor to confirm my statements."

It was the closest he could let himself come to begging.

It was enough to stun every Autobot in the room. They looked at each other for a long moment before Optimus recovered enough to speak.

"That is a generous offer, Prowl. But you should know that it is protocol for all defectors to have their processors scanned following their first mission. That scan is going to happen anyway. Thank you for volunteering, however." A regal nod was sent his direction.

Prowl was still stiff but returned the gesture respectfully.

Optimus looked between his CMO and head of Special Operations. "Ratchet? Jazz?"

Ratchet released a vent and stood. "Alright, Prowl. Come with us back to the med bay and…"

"Excuse me." Prowl politely interrupted the medic. "Is it not true that the data you retrieve from my processor will be shared with those in this room?"

It was a humiliating question to ask, but the medic's nod confirmed its validity. Prowl frowned slightly. "Then why not perform the scan here?"

Ratchet's optics widened. "Well, for one, privacy…"

"Privacy is a non issue." Prowl nodded toward Jazz. "As I have been reminded, I am a prisoner of war. One with limited parole liberties, but a prisoner all the same. It is more efficient to just run the scan now."

Ratchet frowned, clearly unhappy and suspicious to a degree Prowl could not at first understand. "Efficient? For who? The equipment to allow for active back up is in the med bay. Without it, Jazz will have to do the scan completely alone."

Prowl's confused frown mirrored the CMO's borderline accusatory one. "An activity he has already performed. As have you. Why is it now considered an unacceptable risk?"

Ratchet's look actually darkened and Prowl felt a flicker of fear but stamped it down. The CMO started to answer but the Prime cut him off.

"Our experience has proven that many mechs in your position have chosen to attempt attacking the one performing the scan at this juncture. For whatever reason, it has happened before." The Prime was looking at him closely and Prowl again felt that impulse to simply trust the other mech. "Not to mention, the… circumstances following the conclusion of _your _first mission are far more suspicious than most and to that your abilities and it is even more imperative that we not take chances."

There was no apology in the Prime's voice and, strangely enough, Prowl found a vague sense of comfort in that. It was the knowledge that the Prime believed firmly that his decision was right and that he would not waver simply based on a well-spoken argument. Even if the action they feared he might take was illogical for him to attempt.

It was easy for Prowl to respect a leader such as that, even if that decision went against him personally.

Prowl nodded once, a surprising amount of deference in that one, simple gesture, though everything else about the mech remained impassive. "I see. As you wish then."

Red optics came back up to meet the Prime's. "If I may however, for the record?"

Optimus blinked, and he was not the only one. It was clear to all of them, even those who had not been privy to the details of Prowl's evaluations to that point, that Prowl was no typical junior-level or grunt defector: he spoke and acted like an upper level commander. After a moment the Prime indicated for the Praxian to continue.

Prowl's gaze never wavered from the Prime's as if willing his words to be believed, though outwardly he maintained a charade of cool unaffectedness. "I volunteered for this processor scan before I knew it would be required. Regardless, I already agreed to the terms of my parole and integration within Autobot forces, which stipulated processor scans at your discretion. That alone is reason enough for me to submit without objection. Though I understand the apparent necessity of strict precautions, for what it is worth, I give you my word that they are not necessary."

His words echoed into silence as they all stared at him. Then Ratchet cleared his vents and pointed toward the door. However, Jazz never released the magnetic field holding Prowl to the chair. When medic and tactician looked at the saboteur, Jazz shook his helm, considering Prowl with thoughtful optics.

After a moment, Jazz spoke. "I'm willing ta take tha risk." When the others started to protest, he held up a clawed hand. "Ratchet is here an' can slap 'im into stasis lock if needed."

Prowl managed to keep his own surprise off his faceplate as Jazz gave him a none-to-pleasant smirk. "Of course, don't expect me ta make it easy for ya to do anythin', even if ya wanted to."

Despite himself, Prowl found a tiny, barely there, answering smirk form on his own lip plates. "I am fully aware of what you are capable of, Jazz. I do not expect you to take unnecessary risks."

Jazz stood and, even though Prowl logically knew better, the very movement was intimidating. With a quiet ex-vent, Prowl lifted his hands to place them on the table, wrists crossed, in clear view of all. It was as much a statement that he was not going to fight Jazz, as it was an unintentional reminder that this time he was not cuffed.

As Jazz drew closer, Prowl quickly averted his gaze, not wanting to be seen as inadvertently challenging the saboteur. He also slid aside the panel covering his dataport; one more reminder to those in the briefing room that he was doing this willingly.

Mirroring the same approach he had used in the cell, a silver and black hand was braced against the tactician's damaged shoulder as Jazz slid his cable into Prowl's port.

Though he was braced for the sensation, Jazz's presence fell against him like a battering ram. The Praxian cringed as, unlike during his initial interrogation, Jazz did not pause to evaluate the firewalls. Instead, Jazz hit those firewalls in a full out attack, not letting up. Prowl kept himself from snarling in irritated surprise, understanding what Jazz had meant when the silver minibot had warned he would not make it easy on him.

Very well, if that was how Jazz wanted to approach this scan, there was nothing Prowl could do to change it. He had given his word. It took an act of will to gather his own focus enough to obediently lower his firewalls.

As expected, once the barrier was down Jazz struck with the same ruthless efficiency Prowl had faced during his interrogation. This time, however, Jazz did not limit himself to technical data. Personal files, emotions and motivational files were accessed as well.

As he had promised, according to the terms of his parole, Prowl made no attempt to protect or shield any file, memory or thought. He pushed aside the embarrassment and humiliation of the situation with his own brand of ruthless resolve even though he could not keep from grimacing slightly.

To his surprise, as soon as Jazz realized he was meeting no resistance whatsoever, the saboteur relaxed his own mental stance. The pain digging into Prowl's processor eased dramatically as Jazz placed his defensive subroutines back into standby mode. Prowl released another vent, this time in mild relief. It did not make the experience any less invasive or humiliating, but it did make it less agonizing.

Then Jazz's presence froze, as if in sheer disbelief. Prowl unshuttered his optics – which had closed at some point – and looked at the saboteur in question. Then he 'looked' at the file Jazz had just finished perusing. It was the memory and related files pertaining to what had happened between him and Ratchet in the med bay. The tactician could feel Jazz's surprise at what he discovered. Then those piercing blue optics shifted from him to the CMO.

Ratchet, apparently unaware of what the look was for, spoke quietly. "Don't forget the scenario we wanted confirmed."

Jazz nodded sharply and looked back at Prowl. Prowl tensed imperceptibly, waiting for the head of Autobot Special Operations to strike again, in search of whatever the medic was referring to.

Instead the Autobot spoke. "Right. I want your memories concerning the last simulation Ironhide put you through."

Blinking in surprise of his own, even though he did not fully understand the significance, Prowl hastened to highlight the path to the requested files. He could not deny the Autobot's legal right to ask for whatever he wished. That was the term of his parole. In reality, Prowl was surprised he had been asked rather than the files just accessed.

As if sensing that fleeting thought – which he probably had – Jazz suddenly dove back into his processors. Prowl grimaced, caught off guard, but did not dare resist the invasion. It took a moment, but he was quickly able to identify what Jazz was looking for: anything having to do with Bluestreak.

With that understanding, not expecting it to do any good or to even be acknowledged, Prowl highlighted all relevant files. Jazz froze again, but only momentarily, glancing at Prowl. But the Praxian had shuttered his optics once again; the clear discomfort Jazz knew the tactician to be in not reflected greatly in his external demeanor.

Jazz quickly, but gently retrieved data from only a handful of the new files Prowl had highlighted and then was gone.

Prowl could not help himself. As the Saboteur retrieved his cord, the tactician leaned forward slightly, resting his weight on his forearms as his vents heaved in response, trying to cool systems stressed from the painful mental intrusion. The Autobots gave him time to recover, a kindness Prowl did not expect.

The moment of weakness did not last long, a handful of astroseconds at most, before he straightened. His tanks still churning in new humiliation however, Prowl did not otherwise move, nor did he lift his gaze as the collection of leading Autobots continued to regard him in an almost awkward silence.

Each of the observing mechs were well aware of Jazz's skill in the realm of processor hacking. They also knew how uncomfortable such a hack inevitably was. The scan they had just watched had taken place in less than a breem, which could only mean three things. 1) Prowl had not resisted. 2) Jazz had gone full force and full speed. 3) It had to have been almost excruciating for Prowl.

The silence was just beginning to grow nearly untenable for Prowl when Jazz quietly broke it, an indefinable tension to his usually smooth voice. "Was that what ya were expecting?"

Though his systems were cooling, Prowl's response was equally soft. "Close enough it was not a surprise."

Several sets of optics blinked audibly. Then the Prime spoke, his deep baritone voice managing to flow soothingly over Prowl while simultaneously remaining cool and commanding. "Jazz, report."

Prowl suppressed a shudder – he _had_ known the information would be shared with the mechs in the room; just because it was going to be done in front of him changed nothing – as Jazz glanced at him before doing as ordered. "What he reported is true. The Twins ignored multiple warnings to avoid potential ambush sites or even to approach with caution. He did call for back up when appropriate. Said backup _also_ disregarded warnings that their chosen hideout would be overrun before additional help could arrive. His motives were exactly as he stated them and he did retrieve the needed intel."

Smokescreen sneered. "And how did he do that? Walk up to his buddies and ask nicely?"

Jazz's visored gaze snapped to the other Praxian. Prowl stiffened at the accusation but had not been addressed and so he remained silent, waiting for Jazz to answer. "He hacked into one of the 'Cons who attempted to ambush them. He has also already run a tactical analysis on the data he retrieved. Actually, he had that done _before_ Hardstrike even recovered them."

Optimus frowned. "Why is this the first time we are hearing of it?"

Jazz grimaced only slightly, though a certain level of unhappiness all but radiated from him. "He reported his findings to Hound. Beyond that, and based on Hound's reaction as well as everything else that had transpired since, he concluded that his tactical conclusions were unwanted and not trusted."

In the uneasy silence that followed, Ultra Magnus spoke for the first time in this meeting. His voice was not quite as deep as Optimus, nor did it have the same undercurrent of power and authority. "He was right about the other things."

"Indeed." Optimus spoke quietly, looking from Prowl to Jazz. "Anything else Jazz?"

Jazz cast a pointed look at Prowl before turning back to his leader. "Nothin' that needs ta be discussed at this moment. While he may have neglected ta mention some of what happened, everything he did say was completely true."

Silence filled the conference room as all optics focused back on Prowl. After the silence had settled, Optimus thoughtfully addressed the former Decepticon. "Prowl."

In the expectant pause, the tactician forced himself to meet the Prime's gaze. Only then did Optimus continue. "Are you able to find your way back to the med bay?"

The question was unexpected but Prowl gave no hint to his own thoughts as he answered. "Yes, sir."

It was clear to all that Prowl had followed the discussion but he never reacted in any way to being discussed as if he was not present. It made all of them a little uneasy, especially in light of his polite answer.

"Then do so." Optimus' firm tone was all the command Prowl needed. The tactician straightened respectfully, waiting for Optimus to finish. It was a reaction all of them saw. "You will stay there until you can be seen to by a medic and then you will return to your quarters unless given orders to do otherwise."

The magnetic field holding him to the chair released with a low buzz. Prowl stood, his doorwings dipping in a movement of clear deference. "Understood, sir. I will comply."

Then he turned and all optics watched his progress until the door hissed shut behind him.

"What did you not want to say with him around?" Optimus' question brought everyone's attention back to Jazz.

Jazz sagged into his chair, releasing a hard vent. He shook his helm clearly uneasy. "He didn't fight me, Prime. At all. I synched with 'im in full assault mode and while his instinctive defenses were activated, he still intentionally lowered his firewalls for me."

Every mech at the table winced at that announcement. But Jazz was not finished. The hand he had on the table curled into a fist. "He did it 'cause in his mind he had no fragging choice. He had agreed ta submit ta the processor scan and that meant lowerin' his firewalls, which he did."

With a weary ex-vent, Jazz rubbed his faceplate with one hand. Then he looked at Ratchet, his blazing gaze making the medic sit slightly straighter. "He was serious, Ratchet. Dead serious."

The others buzzed quietly in puzzlement, but Ratchet only blinked. Then he nodded, spurring Jazz to continue. "He came ta tha med bay expectin' ta be stripped ta his protoform and he was honestly cooperatin' 'cause he had given his word ta ya ta do so."

Ratchet had gone stiff as the saboteur continued.

Optimus turned to his CMO. "Explain."

The order was curt. Ratchet sighed and took up the explanation as all optics turned to him. "When Prowl came to get the locks on his weapons and comm. systems released I threatened that if something happened out there and he wasn't at least half as slagged as the Twins when they came back, I'd… um, strip him of every usable part and dump him in the brig in his bare protoform. It was meant to be a deterrent to setting them up or attempting to avoid combat if they happened to find any"

Ratchet cleared his vents. "As you might've guessed, both were far more slagged than he was."

Everyone else stared at Ratchet until Optimus spoke again. "That is not in accordance with Autobot Protocols, Ratchet."

The touch of disappointment, as well as the truth in the Prime's words was enough to make the fiery CMO bow his helm just a fraction. "I know. I would not have even _considered_ actually following through unless it was obvious he had betrayed them. I did not expect him to take it so literally."

Ironhide grunted. "What about that simulation?"

"What simulation?" Smokescreen asked with curiosity.

Ironhide's engine revved. "During his initial evaluation he made it to the final Command Series simulation.

Smokescreen's optics widened briefly and then a sneer tipped his lip plate. "Did he sacrifice our Prime?"

The other tactician's tone suggested that was what he expected, but Jazz shot him a look. "He sacrificed himself."

Dead silence greeted that, along with stunned staring from those present who had not been aware of that previously, including Smokescreen, Ultra Magnus, Red Alert, Blaster and Hardstrike.

"Was it a ploy? A trick to gain our trust?" Hardstrike ventured after a long moment.

All optics focused back on Jazz. The saboteur shook his helm and looked up at Optimus. "No. He ran the calculations and probable effectiveness of over fifteen different strategies and variations but he knew Megatron's hatred for defectors would make him a temptin' target. He truly believed it ta be the most logical option; the option with the highest likelihood of preservin' both Optimus' life and the highest number of Autobot soldiers."

Jazz released a long sigh of air through his vents. "He calculated only a 32.78% chance he would survive such a move, but chose it anyway. And his comment about a processor wipe protocol… its true. And he woulda done it for real."

Hardstrike was staring. "Wipe his processor or sacrifice himself like that?"

"Both."

More silence, this one longer than before.

Finally Optimus broke it, changing the subject. "What did he not reveal during his debriefing?"

Jazz's fingers tapped the table in irritation. "Apparently tha Twins not only ignored warnings, they were constantly tauntin' and harassin' him. And ya know how Sideswipe can be. They even threatened a couple of times to lie about whatever happened on the patrol to get him in trouble. From what I know of the Twins, I don't believe they woulda done so for real. But Prowl… he took 'em at their word just like he did with Ratch. He wasn't even sure he would survive the patrol."

Ironhide growled. "And what was he planning to do about it?"

"Not a slagging thing." Jazz answered receiving mutters and grumbles from around the table. Jazz shook his helm before looking back at the Prime. "Optimus, he _wrote_ a new moral and ethical code and installed it just prior to his deployment. Nothin' major – basically he took the base program from his enforcer coding and reinstalled it. But he did strengthen its integration matrix an' I mean like nothin' I've seen before. He did it 'cause he realized how far his morals and standards had fallen after joining the 'Cons and wanted ta make sure it _never_ happened again."

His gaze shifted to Ironhide. "He started workin' on it after your little deal when he fired at the neutral hostage. He wanted more time ta work on it, but integrated it before his deployment with the Twins _specifically_ 'cause he _knew_ they would push him and he didn't trust himself."

"What exactly is it doing to him?" Prime asked very softly.

Jazz started to speak, then changed his mind. He glanced around the table and cleared his vents. "With all due respect, Optimus, I don't think the intimate details of how his programmin' works is somethin' Prowl would want bandied about by everyone. I'll give the senior commanders that info, but for now I think we should stick wit' generalities."

Optimus considered that for a moment then nodded. "Quite right, Jazz. Thank you for the reminder." A small gesture with two fingers indicated Jazz was to continue.

Jazz released another vent. "In short, it was why he volunteered to put himself under Ratchet's saw and why he cooperated so fully just now. Tha new coding does not _let_ 'im break a promise to those who his systems see as an ally, especially not one who is a superior officer. It also severely limits his ability to even defend himself from a superior officer, unless said officer betrays the side he has allied himself with."

Optimus' optics were slowly widening. "And… we are considered his allies?"

"Yes."

Hardstrike looked like he had just watched his own hand rust and fall off. "_That_ was why he didn't try to stop me when I found them, and Hound and Springer had their weapons aimed at him?"

Jazz simply nodded, his lip plates in a tense line. "Yep. He had thought you were Decepticons 'cause he couldn't detect faction ID or spark signatures. They told 'im ta stand down. He had just done so when ya arrived. Bad timin', that's all."

That was greeted by more silence, during which Jazz took the opportunity to send each commander the data specifically pertaining to their area. He sent Smokescreen the tactical information he had retrieved. Only to Optimus, Ratchet and Ironhide did he share the details of the modified ethics program.

Ratchet's mood quickly darkened as he read the data. Sensing that, Prime dismissed Ultra Magnus, Red Alert, Blaster, Hardstrike and Smokescreen.

Smokescreen stood along with the others, but he paused, looking at his leader. "Prime… These tactical analysis Prowl developed while in the field…" He grimaced, clearly not wanting to continue. "No wonder we had such a hard time. As much as I'm still mad at the mech and don't want to admit it… he truly is very good at what he does. One of the best."

Optimus looked up at his chief tactical officer, taking in the mostly gray Praxian's demeanor. Then he nodded. Smokescreen returned the gesture and left.

No sooner had the door closed on Smokescreen's tailpipe than the steadily building thunderstorm that was Ratchet finally exploded. "The fragging glitch! There is no telling what kind of instabilities he has introduced to his primary neural cortexes. I warned him… I _warned_ him and, and, and the slagging scrap heap _will_ learn his lesson!"

"Worse than an exo-frame harvest?" Ironhide asked, an optic ridge quirked.

"Maybe." Ratchet growled darkly.

"I'm sure he would not have taken such drastic steps, had he not deemed them necessary." Optimus reminded them. "Before you punish him too greatly, try to remember that, where he has come from, medics are not trusted, especially with such delicate work because they would be just as likely to reprogram to their own liking as to assist with requested alterations."

Ratchet opened his mouth to retort then closed it again. After a moment he nodded, standing. "I'll keep that in mind. It doesn't mean I'll change my mind about it though. If you'll excuse me, Sunstreaker still has several joors worth of extensive surgeries ahead just to bring him back from critical condition."

With that the CMO was gone, leaving Jazz, Ironhide and Optimus sitting around a table meant for several times their number.

"This could be a security disaster, if he is ever captured…" Ironhide began.

"He hard coded silence as the only option when the truth is not something that should be said." Optimus corrected, mentally examining the coding Jazz had sent. "So long as he considers us his allies, that tracer program is actually redundant. This new ethical coding will keep him on a much tighter leash. It's a tighter leash than _we_ could ever apply."

He fell silent, engine rumbling softly as he carefully considered all the implications of what they had just learned about their new, resident _former_ Decepticon. _"Always tell the truth…"_ Optimus had warned Prowl…no matter the consequences. Prowl had gone beyond that and had made it impossible for him to do anything else. While Optimus could understand the courage and commitment it had required to take that step, he was still disturbed by the method Prowl had employed. He had all but made himself a slave to his own programming.

The freedom to choose was the right of all sentient beings. While Optimus tried to tell himself Prowl had _chosen_ to surrender that right, it was still wrong that the tactician had felt the need to do so, forever altering his future. Never in a million vorns would Optimus ever even consider asking _any _Cybertronian to take such a step.

He could only hope that Prowl would not grow to resent having done so and thereby grow to resent the Autobots as a whole for forcing his hand.

* * *

_Well, I had not initially intended to stop this one here, but it just got way too long, so I had to break it in half. Don't worry, the next chapter *should* be up relatively quickly. Unless real life decides to throw slag in my face. Anyway, I hope all of you enjoyed this and that you will take the time to tell me, one way or another. :)_


	11. Repairs

First Aid had pointed Prowl nervously to a corner when he had returned to the med bay. The young medic had clearly been nervous in Prowl's presence without his superior around to 'control' him. Despite everything he had just endured, Prowl felt a touch of sympathy for the junior apprentice and so he had retreated to the indicated corner without comment.

Curious, he continued to watch First Aid surreptitiously as the red and white medic ran the med bay in his mentor's absence.

It was quickly clear to the Praxian that the younger mech, while obviously still an apprentice, was surprisingly skilled and knowledgeable and would one day be able to run his own medical ward. He lacked confidence however, but that was something that could only be gained through experience.

The med bay doors hissed open and Prowl looked that direction only to see Ratchet storm in. Blue optics met red and the CMO growled darkly. First Aid approached his mentor with a data pad, but Ratchet held up a hand to stall him as he stalked to where Prowl waited.

Prowl had seen that look numerous times on Megatron's face and knew he was about to have his aft handed to him in a painful manner. For what, exactly he did not know, but he knew it was coming. Steeling himself, Prowl did not try to defend himself as a black and chartreuse hand closed over his collar strut, pulling him forward, olfactory sensor to olfactory sensor with the medic.

"I told you _never _to do a medical grade software integration on your own again." The words were spoken softly enough only Prowl could hear, but that did not make them any less threatening. "Yet you went and tinkered with your _ethical_ programs? Your _command cortex_? What were you thinking? Or _were_ you thinking, you glitch-helmed slag pile of scrap!"

Prowl winced internally, realizing what the medic was irate about. "The integration was successful, medic…"

"I don't _care_ if it was successful!" Ratchet's grip tightened, denting the metal under his hand. "You could have introduced who knows what kind of glitch to your systems and, since it's in your _command cortex_ there is precious little I can do to _fix_ any such problems without turning you into a drooling, mindless drone with a spark. You are fragging lucky you didn't do it to yourself!"

Prowl was silent for a long moment, surprised at the trace of true concern Ratchet seemed to have for his wellbeing. He answered softly. "I had no choice."

"No _choice_?" Ratchet's anger was making him almost yell. "_Now_ you don't have a choice. You… you…" the volume fell back to a near whisper. "You took away your own choice."

Unspoken was a demand to know why. Prowl released a vent of air. Ratchet had already been in his head. If anyone would be able to understand, it would be him. "I _forgot_ the ethics I once held to, medic. And with terrifying ease. It is my intention to ensure that never happens again." He might not intended to enslave himself to the extent that he had, but it is too late to change that and knew he now had no option but to adjust. "It is better than the alternative." He finished in a near whisper

Ratchet just stared at him. "I should still weld your aft to the wall for disobeying an order… an order I gave for your own fragging wellbeing!"

Prowl's face gave nothing away of his inner thoughts, though he was a sparkbeat in answering. "If you truly believe I deserve it."

And Ratchet knew that Prowl was serious. Just as he had been about the exo-frame harvest. What Ratchet knew of that programming confirmed that if Prowl considered himself as to have disobeyed a direct order, he would feel compelled to submit to whatever punishment was meted out to him. Because he had no choice.

He remembered Optimus' reminder about Decepticon medics and most of the irritation bled out of Ratchet's frame. He straightened, releasing the Praxian. "Next time… next time you feel the need to make such a drastic change to your core programming, for Primus sake, ask me first."

When Prowl's optics widened a fraction in surprise, Ratchet shook his helm. "I am a _medic_, Prowl, not a cruel Decepticon butcher. As much as I think you are a glitch-mouse to doing what you did, I do respect your motivation. I would have helped, I may have been able to find another way, one that would not take away your autonomy. "

Prowl was staring, then he averted his gaze. "I understand. My apologies, then for not seeking your advice. It is… rather novel for me to be able to even consider such an option was available."

Ratchet snorted. "Yeah. That's what the Prime said. That's the _only_ reason I haven't disassembled you already, fragging glitch. This is the last time I let you get by with that excuse though, understood? I don't care if every instinct you have in that decrepit processor of yours says you can't trust me, it does not change the fact that I am the CMO, which means – so long as you are under Autobot jurisdiction – I have _full_ authority over anything and everything to do with your little black and white self. I don't have to agree with what you want to do, and I wouldn't have, but it is your right and would have posed no risk to any slagger but you. I might have tried to talk you out of it, but that is my job! In the end, if you had insisted, I would have just made sure it was done as safely as possible." Ratchet fell silent for a moment, peering at him closely then he spoke, his voice just a hair less harsh. "Do you believe that?"

Prowl considered the question, searching Ratchet's gaze. "I… would like to." He said softly.

Ratchet harrumphed. "Doesn't matter, I guess, because it's an order now. You _will_ at least seek my advice before making changes to your coding again."

Ratchet's optics were hard, hiding the hint of disgust he felt with himself for what he had just done. He had used Prowl's revamped coding against him and they both knew it. The way the Praxian stiffened only drove home that point. But Ratchet forced himself not to care, he had done it for the hard-helmed mech's own good. _That_ was his function as Chief Medical Officer: to take care of the mechs under his watch to the best of his abilities regardless of anything else, even if he had to do so in spite of the mech in question.

Prowl knew there was only one way he could answer Ratchet, knew he had no choice in the matter any more and he knew the medic had done that intentionally. It did not exactly help his ability to trust the CMO. But as he continued to look at Ratchet's expression he could see hints to genuine concern and a grim determination that was all to similar to Prowl's own.

At length he bowed his helm – as they both knew he would – and gave his response. "Understood, sir."

Ratchet straightened to his full height, satisfied with that victory at least. "Good. Now, I'm going to work on Sunstreaker. If no one's fixed you by the time I'm done I'll get to you then."

With that, Ratchet spun and left him, disappearing into the surgical suite. If Prowl had to wait for repairs just that much longer… well, perhaps it would be suitable penance for pissing off the only medic not absolutely terrified of him. And Ratchet was fine with that too.

… … …

Joors passed since Ratchet disappeared behind the doors to the surgical suite where he was ostensibly working on Sunstreaker. Prowl had been left completely to his own devices. None of the other medics were even brave enough to tell him he would have to wait and left him to figure that out himself. As irritating as that might be, Prowl did not blame them. They were junior personnel and probably knew that the nervousness of working on an 'enemy' would lead to mistakes. Then, not only would they have to face a 'Decepticon's' temper, but also the wrath of their own boss. So he waited without complaint.

As the Joors passed, Prowl's fuel level slowly dipped closer to critical. While his systems had eventually stopped the flow of energon from his injuries, he had lost quite a bit while not having had much in the way of reserves to begin with.

At some point Sideswipe had been released, though he had gone nowhere except to alternate between pacing anxiously in front of the doors that hid his brother or to sit on a stool beside those same doors. The frontliner had initially given Prowl a strange look, one that was not kind but not overtly hostile either, but had then decided to act as if the Praxian did not even exist.

Prowl was fine with that as well, not feeling up to dealing with the annoying frontliner in addition to everything else.

As his energy level continued to drop, Prowl sank onto a stool as well, struggling to stay out of stasis. He had suffered enough humiliation for one day. Falling into an unconscious heap on the floor was not an indignity he wanted to allow. Unfortunately, the throb in his processor from Jazz's scan had created a rhythm that he was finding harder to resist as it tried to lure him into a place that would, at least, be free of pain.

In an effort to stave off the inevitable, especially since he knew it was still at least an orn before he was likely to receive any additional fuel, Prowl began to shut down all unnecessary, high-energy systems.

He had just rerouted power from his optics when the med bay door hissed open. He did not bother to acknowledge the new arrival until a young voice called out in exhausted relief.

"Prowl!"

Prowl straightened from where he had leaned against the wall, his optics onlining instantly as he looked at Bluestreak. He was dimly aware Sideswipe's attention had also been captured but ignored the frontliner as staunchly as Sideswipe had been ignoring him.

Bluestreak rushed to him, followed eventually by Chromia.

Stopping just in front of Prowl, Bluestreak looked up at him with worried optics that quickly roved over his frame, taking note of the damages he could see. Prowl smiled ever so slightly at the youngling's concern over him. He was unaware how his severe, pain-laced expression softened in that moment. Sideswipe saw and did not want to believe, so he turned resolutely away, huffing slightly.

Chromia, on the other hand grew more thoughtful as she watched the Decepticon tactician put a hand on Bluestreak's helm in quiet acknowledgement and welcome of the little one's presence.

Little hands reached up to grasp the adult's wrist as Prowl started to remove his hand, pulling the appendage back towards his smaller chassis – an action the tactician did not resist – until the backs of black fingers rested lightly against blue plating. "I'm glad you're back. I was so worried about you, I couldn't recharge. I was afraid you would be damaged or killed and I would've lost another caretaker and I don't think I could handle that. But you're back now and I don't have to worry…"

"I am back." Prowl said softly, gently cutting off the anxious ramble, his voice carrying a degree of weakness Chromia had never heard before and it made her frown even as he continued. "You do not need to worry so."

Bluestreak smiled at that, then hesitantly moved forward, releasing Prowl's wrist only to reach up and touch the tactician's lower chassis, his large blue optics questioning, pleading. After a moment, taken to divine the youngling's intent, Prowl nodded and let his arm circle Bluestreak as the sparkling climbed his frame to settle over his spark. Within moments, he was in recharge.

Chromia spoke softly, though she let a touch of accusation slip into her voice as well, not wanting to be _completely_ taken in by the sight she had just witnessed. "He hasn't had more than a joor or two of recharge since you left. He was worried."

Prowl nodded, turning his attention up to her, the mask over his emotions thinned by exhaustion and physical weakness. "I am sorry my absence troubled him so."

Chromia snorted at that, not wanting to admit to the genuine regret in the Decepticon's voice. "You are his caretaker. What did you expect? Of course he cares about what happens to you. I hope you are worthy of it."

Prowl did not answer, let alone offer the retort Chromia would have expected – the retort she had tried to illicit – from her accusatory words and provoking tone. Slightly irritated to be thrown off so easily once again, she scanned the black and white Praxian.

All pretense fell from her voice as she processed the results. "You are injured."

It was an understatement and they both knew it. Nevertheless, Prowl simply nodded. "It is nothing critical."

Chromia frowned. The injuries might not have been critical when they had been received, but his energy level hinted at very low levels of energon. _Critically_ low levels of energon. "When did you last refuel?"

"At least an orn and a half ago." Prowl stated simply but without inflection. Even in his weakened state where it should have been harder for him to hide his emotions, there was nothing there. It was as if it was simply an accepted fact that he was deprived of fuel and that was all there was to it. As if he expected nothing different and was simply resigned to that reality.

At her prolonged silence Prowl had looked back at her. Chromia scowled. If he dropped into stasis, he would not be able to care for Bluestreak and it would worry the dear little spark unnecessarily and _that_ was unacceptable. She saw the Praxian wince at her expression but took no pleasure in it.

Like a femme on a mission, she stalked over to one of the cabinets lining a far wall and rummaged through its contents. That none of the medics sought to stop, or even interfere, with her either attested to her right to be there or their own fear of confronting her. She was, after all, a lot like Ironhide but a much more volatile version.

Finding what she wanted, the blue and silver femme fished the cube of energon out of the storage space, double checked its label and then returned to Prowl.

She thrust the cube at him. "Medical grade. Drink it."

Prowl blinked, but accepted the energon willingly. He unsealed the cube, taking a few cautious sips as if waiting for it to be yanked out of his hand. When nothing of the sort happened, he quickly drained it. Almost immediately the energy rushed through his systems, brightening his optics and restoring function to other systems that had started to shut down to conserve energy. His tanks were nowhere near full, and the effects of only one cube would not last longer than half an orn, but it was an improvement.

He looked at Chromia to voice his appreciation but found himself wincing slightly as she motioned sharply, summoning a nearby medic. That medic happened to be First Aid.

First Aid made his way cautiously to the feisty femme and the presumably dangerous Decepticon, careful to keep the femme at least slightly between him and the greater threat.

First Aid's optics caught momentarily at the sight of a sparkling sleeping so contentedly in the arms of the red-optic mech, but he brushed that aside, remembering everything he had been told about this particular Decepticon.

He cleared his vents smiled warmly at Ironhide's sparkmate. "What can I do for you, Chromia? Is everything all right?"

Chromia, frowning anew, gestured to Prowl. "Why has he not been repaired?"

First Aid stiffened in alarm, not liking the tone of Chromia's voice. "Um, see, Ratchet is still in surgery with Sunstreaker and…"

"Are you _incapable_ of fixing him?" First Aid nearly trembled under the scowl the femme pinned on him.

"Of, of course not! It's just…" he quickly defended, but the shaky glance he tossed at Prowl betrayed his true feelings. He was terrified. Afraid of Prowl for what he had once been, what it was presumed he still was. And now he was afraid of Chromia in that she might force him to confront his greater nightmare.

Prowl understood, better than Chromia probably did and perhaps even more than First Aid might think. Most medics were, by nature, pacifists. For that reason very few had sided with Megatron. Unfortunately, because of the important nature of their job, they were often intentionally targeted in battle. What better way to ensure your enemy would loose than to ensure they could not be fixed once they were damaged? What better way to do that than to take out as many of their medical staff as possible? Once the enemy was unable to repair damages delivered to them in combat it was only a matter of time before they either surrendered or ceased to exist: a foolproof way to end the war.

Prowl would never have ordered sparklings to be killed or neutrals to be targeted, but _Autobot_ medics had chosen a side and he had once considered every Autobot the enemy. It had been his own order that placed them specifically in the Decepticon crosshairs.

He did not blame the young medic his trepidation nor his desire to be anywhere but within striking range of the individual he must have known was responsible for that fact.

His newly restored ethical program harshly condemned him for such sparkles deeds, and the guilt was compounded by the terror he saw in the young medic's gaze.

"First Aid…" He spoke softly, interrupting whatever Chromia might have been about to say.

Prowl saw First Aid wince at the direct address, as if he expected to be struck and knew he had to proceed very carefully.

He averted his gaze non-threateningly, "I understand your concerns with treating my injuries. But you are in no danger from me. I give you my word."

First Aid shifted uneasily, though he seemed almost angry. "Yeah you're a _Decepticon_ and you guys aren't exactly known for keeping your word! Uh…"

First Aid suddenly shifted backward as if unable to believe he had spoken so boldly, clearly growing more terrified.

Not wanting the medic to flee, Prowl instinctively reached out with the arm not cradling Bluestreak and caught First Aid's wrist. In his grip, gentle as it might be, First Aid trembled visibly.

Feeling even more guilty, Prowl released the medic, dropping his gaze respectfully to the white and red mech's chassis, his doorwings dipping apologetically. It was the posture that surprised First Aid into pausing his retreat long enough for Prowl to speak.

"It is true. Decepticons do not generally keep their word. When you speak the truth, you should do so without fear." Prowl looked back up, seeing the medic's posture had relaxed ever so slightly at his words. "I was sent to Praxus to be killed in the assault for no other reason than that I am Praxian. I am no longer one of them and I do not wish for you to fear me as though I were."

First Aid seemed to consider his options then, with a visible gathering of his courage, he face Prowl directly. Chromia was there to protect him, after all. "There was a day when medical personnel were considered non-combatants and were spared in battle."

Prowl felt his own systems hitch as the understated verbal accusation mirrored his own spark's disgust as his past actions. "Yes." The amount of stress in his voice caught the two Autobot's attention. "That is but one of many decisions I wish I could undo. That any Autobot medic would consent to treat me is a kindness I do not deserve. Do not think I am ungrateful."

Prowl lifted his optics up to the medic's, speaking even softer. "If you are willing to do the work were your safety concerns allayed I would be much obliged."

First Aid frowned, suspicious. "What do you mean?"

Prowl hesitated. He was about to take a major risk and he knew it. If First Aid were inclined toward seeking retribution he would be walking straight into it. But a part of his spark argued that it would only be fair, despite how illogical it was to volunteer for such a thing. So for that reason Prowl explained, his vents hitching as he realized once he did so his ethics program would force him to comply regardless of what First Aid chose to do.

"Immobilize my frame, put me in stasis, restrain me to the berth, have Chromia or someone else hold a gun to my helm. Whatever would make you feel safe enough to do the work." He could see First Aid's optics widen in clear indication he was feeling overwhelmed and Prowl drew in a vent of air. "I am also willing to wait until Ratchet is available if you do not wish to treat me."

"Why… why would you do that… agree to all that?" First Aid all but whispered.

"I know what I am to you." Prowl stated softly. "I do not blame you for any animosity you may feel toward me. But you are a good medic; it is easy to see why you are Ratchet's apprentice. I have seen you work, yet your fear and insecurity keeps you from being as good as you could be. If I can, by any means, help you overcome that, then it might be a down payment on a debt I will never be able to repay."

First Aid continued to stare at him, but at least he was seriously considering Prowl's words, his posture and the tone of his voice. It was in a medic's programming to seek to help, to fix what they could fix and to do no harm. That was part of what made being intentional targets so frightening to them. Some, like Ratchet adapted easier than others.

When Prowl said nothing else, when he pushed no further, First Aid allowed his medical programming to take precedence in his processor and ran a scan over the doorwinged mech.

"Hm." He found himself mumbling softly. "It will be hard to get to your chassis with Bluestreak there. I suppose I can…"

Chromia reached out and took Bluestreak. The sparkling whimpered weakly, but she held him close to her spark before he could online completely, then she stepped back.

Now facing the former Decepticn without the sparkling between them, First Aid gathered himself and pointed to a nearby med berth. "Have a seat."

Still sensing the fledgling cooperation of the medic was tenuous at best, Prowl silently did as asked. Once he was seated, First Aid considered him critically, calculating how close he would have to be to the mech to do his work. Unfortunately, it was well within grabbing range. And those red optics terrified him because of what they represented. And despite the mech's words, he did not trust him.

"Um…" He hesitated, what if the ex-Decepticon refused to follow his next command? Would he have the courage to force the issue? "Uh, put… put your hands flat on the berth."

To his great surprise, Prowl did exactly as he was told, resting his hands on the metal surface in such a way that it would not block access to any plating on his frame, as if knowing he might be immobilized in that position. Hesitantly, First Aid reached out and magnetized the berth, trapping Prowl to its surface.

To the Praxian's credit he did not so much as flinch, though he was all but defenseless, the position his arms were in – now that his hands were trapped to the berth – kept him from being able to move much at all. And First Aid realized with a start that he had probably done that intentionally. The look in Prowl's optics as the tactician looked up at him confirmed that, especially as Prowl dipped his helm in acceptance of the restraint.

"Uh… your pain grid offline?" First Aid asked, recovering some of his own composure.

Prowl nodded once again. "Yes."

First Aid lifted his hands, hesitated and then moved a step closer to start working on the scorched, crumpled armor on the tactician's chassis. When Prowl said nothing, his movements grew more firm and sure, though he frequently shot glances at the 'Con under his hands. He expected anger or haughtiness or… _something_. While Prowl winced from time to time, his posture remained that of respectful submission, completely non-threatening, and it never waivered.

As time and his work with the repairs progressed and Prowl never even hinted at doing anything untoward, First Aid continued to relax. He even began chatting, nervously at first, with his patient. Prowl did not contribute much to the conversatin, only giving occasional encouragement for First Aid to continue.

By the time the junior medic was finished with the platting on Prowl's chassis, the damage to his his shoulder and leg, he was almost completely relaxed… well, as close as he could be considering he was working on a former Decepticon who was responsible for the Decepticon's policy of targeting unarmed medics on the battlefield.

He was almost able to smile as he moved around the berth to evaluate the damage on Prowl's back and doorwings..

The half-smile fell from his lip plates as he got his first good look at Prowl's doorwings. He froze.

Prowl, not unexpectedly picked up on the change in his demeanor. "Is something wrong, First Aid?"

"Uh…" All the lessons he had received about not letting patients know how nervous or inexperienced he might be were was forgotten in light of the unassuming question. "I don't have much experience with doorwings." He blurted

Immediately First Aid wanted to slam his face into the metal of his palms. Prowl's softly spoken, "If you are not comfortable continuing, let us wait," brought him up short. He would have expected some kind of biting insult at his incompetence. Even some of the Autobots – Sideswipe and Sunstreaker to name two came to mind – would have done so for such a comment.

Warily, First Aid circled back in front of Prowl, looking at the former Decepticon with trepidation. "I'm sorry…"

"Do not be. Inexperience is not something to be ashamed of." Prowl answered reassuringly. _Reassuringly?_

The unexpected kindness in the Praxian's tone prompted the medic to continue, explaining his failings. "See, Smokescreen and the couple of other Praxians on base they… well, they don't let me near their doorwings because of how sensitive they are. I… I know the theory, but…"

He trailed off, unspeakably embarrassed. Surprisingly, Prowl completed the thought for him, his voice completely nonjudgmental. "They wish only to be treated by someone with long standing practical familiarity."

First Aid nodded miserably. "Yes… though I don't know why I told _you_ any of that."

Prowl continued to look at First Aid, completely understanding where his fellow Praxian's were coming from. Doorwing repair was never pleasant and inexperienced hands made such a procedure even more uncomfortable.

Logically, however, having only _one_ medic with the ability to work on doorwings was a poor tactical situation. Especially with medics being actively targeted by the Decepticons. What would happen if Ratchet was killed or disabled? Prowl could also not help but calculate the possible benefits of being able to gain First Aid's trust, but that was a minor point in his next decision. Regardless of the potential personal benefits, it was imperative that Iacon's medical staff not be limited to only one medic with the ability to repair doorwings.

He looked up at First Aid's worried optics. "Perhaps it is time you got that experience."

First Aid's optics snapped up to meet his, a look of total shock written across his face. "Excuse me?"

Movement behind First Aid caught Prowl's attention and he glanced past the red and white mech to see Ratchet approaching, wiping his hands on a cleaning cloth. He was confident Ratchet would agree with his assessment of the situation: the CMO would not be a very good manager if he was not interested in growing the knowledge and abilities of his staff. And, First Aid _was_ his apprentice.

Prowl looked back at First Aid, a tiny, almost imperceptible smirk tipping his lip plate. He pitched his voice to be heard by Ratchet as well. "I am a prisoner of war and therefore in no place to object should Ratchet see fit to use this opportunity to let you gain much needed experience in doorwing repair…"

The tactician's optics flicked back to Ratchet, seeing the senior medic's surprise at the statement, saw the silent question that swiftly followed and gave a small nod to confirm the offer.

"He's right." Ratchet said suddenly, still staring at Prowl. The sudden address made First Aid jump slightly, whirling around to face his mentor. "It's about time you get your hands dirty with those things rather than just watch me."

Only then did Ratchet look at the junior medic. He pointed imperiously back toward the supply cabinets and rattled off a list of half a dozen tools they would need. Once First Aid had scampered off to get them, he looked back at Prowl, then at Chromia who was still holding Bluestreak.

Ratchet dropped his voice. "Even as a POW, you don't have to do this."

Prowl, exhaustion still wearing thin the mask he would have preferred to keep over his emotions, smirked again, ever so slightly. "He will not gain the experience to work on others if he does not start somewhere. It is not wise for such a valuable skill set to be limited to only one mech."

Ratchet snorted. "Of course it isn't. But no one else seems to agree with me about that." He paused, looking at Prowl appraisingly. "You know, no matter how good a medic is or how much of the theory they have learned, a first attempted at a procedure is not usually easy. This isn't going to be fun for you."

Prowl nodded, optic ridge quirking ironically. "Having a doorwing repaired never is. However, all of the so called medical staff working for the Decepticons are actually scientists having to learn on the job without a real teacher."

"Yeah, well, there is a reason for that." Ratchet said bitterly. It was the first time that subject had come up between them and Prowl quickly averted his gaze. He had been amazed Ratchet had not referenced that fact before hand.

"Yes. Another reason why I do not begrudge First Aid this opportunity to improve his skills." Then, even softer he added. "Besides, no matter how poorly he might do, I have no doubt he will perform the task infinitely better than any Decepticon 'medic' that has worked on me."

A look sheer horror flashed across Ratchet's optics as he suddenly understood where Prowl's patience with physical discomfort came from. Then a surprising swell of true sympathy took its place. The CMO opened his mouth to say something, but shut it as First Aid returned and slipped back into 'dispassionate professional' mode.

Prowl saw the change happen and lowered his gaze to a neutral point on the far wall and waited. He was still virtually immobilized – which was probably a good thing or he would have had to fight the temptation to drum his fingers. Two medics, both with the knowledge and the skill to cause him serious harm were standing directly behind him and he was all but blind to their presence because of his damages. Both medics had more than enough reason to wish him harm, that they had both chosen to fix his damages instead was a commentary on their character that floored him and demanded his utmost respect.

That did not mean that he found it easy to be helpless under their tender mercies.

Though he could not get more than a vague sense of motion from behind him, Prowl could still easily hear Ratchet as he instructed First Aid. "The first thing you do when working on doorwings is to immobilize them. The last thing you want is for one to twitch while you are welding or cutting damage free. For most Praxian frames, that relay control is here, in the dorsal paneling between the doorwings themselves."

First Aid asked a question which Ratchet answered. Then the CMO continued. "Now, if you have a willing, cooperative patient able to follow commands, you can tell them where you want the doorwing _before_ you immobilize them. Saves time, saves effort. However, if your patient is delirious or combative or simply unable to do as asked, you immobilize and then you have to position them yourself."

"So we ask Prowl to hold his right doorwing at…"

"Normally, yes." Ratchet interrupted his apprentice. "But that is the easy way. Manually manipulating doorwings is not as easy as it appears… Don't look at me like that, First Aid. Prowl volunteered for this. So… What are you waiting for?"

"Right." First Aid's engine gave a small whining sound, then he raised his voice to address Prowl. "Um… I'm going to immobilize your doorwings now."

"Understood." Prowl said evenly.

A moment later his motor control of his doorwings was gone. He knew where they were and could still feel them, but nothing he could do could move them. He kept his gaze firmly on that spot on the far wall as Ratchet told First Aid how to position an immobilized doorwing. Though it was an odd feeling to have any part of himself manipulated in such a manner, Prowl gave no indication of the discomfort he felt when damaged plating was (presumably) brushed accidentally sending white hot pokers through his pressure grid.

Ratchet had been so skillful with the same procedure when Prowl had still been in the interrogation cell, that Prowl had actually not noticed his doorwings being manipulated into position. It highlighted more clearly why none of the other Praxians allowed anyone else to do such work.

Prowl released a vent of air.

"Careful." Ratchet admonished. "Just because they are immobilized, don't forget he can still feel everything that happens to them."

"Right. Sorry." First Aid sounded miserable, which surprised Prowl.

"Focus!" Ratchet snapped and then, doorwings finally positioned as they wanted, the repairs started.

It took nearly a joor and a half as Ratchet worked First Aid through the whole procedure. There were a few times when more pressure was applied than necessary, or an instrument slipped, but over all, it was nothing compared to what it would have been like if Breakdown had been the one perform the procedure.

As function fully returned to the doorwings, Prowl focused back on Ratchet. He was in mid sentence. "… The rest of it we'll just have to let his self-repair systems finish."

His wings were remobilized and both medics walked around the berth to face him. First Aid looked a little nervous, but Ratchet sent him to clean up the tools that had been used.

Once he was gone, Ratchet leaned forward, suddenly threatening. "I'm going to check your primary command cortex for any unintended errors you might have introduced. You give me any trouble and…"

"I defer to your judgment, medic." Prowl said quietly and reluctantly allowed access to his primary neural dataport. He had already learned that particular lesson once and that was enough.

With an audible blink at his ready capitulation, Ratchet inserted his cable. Thankfully, he waited patiently until Prowl opened the equivalent of a narrow passage through his firewalls to the indicated coding. Ratchet swept through his scan with speed that was on a par with Jazz's and, regardless of the ache he left in his wake, Prowl was grateful for that.

With a grunt, Ratchet pulled back and withdrew his cord. "There is a minor instability between the logic and emotional interfaces. I will need to monitor it to see if it will destabilize further or, perhaps right itself over time."

"I appreciate your efforts, medic." Prowl answered quietly.

Ratchet snorted. "Well see about that."

Ratchet looked up to search for First Aid and gestured him back over. "Finish up and he's free to go." He looked over at Prowl. "You remember Prime's orders?"

"Yes, sir." Prowl assured.

Both apprentice and tactician watched Ratchet walk away. Then they glanced at each other. Neither seemed exactly sure what to do. Then Prowl dipped his helm, noting First Aid's increasing nervousness. "Thank you, First Aid."

First Aid seemed to suddenly remember Prowl was held down to the berth and quickly released the magnetic field. Even so, Prowl was not quick to move, not wanting to frighten the timid medic.

When Prowl's lack of aggression continued, First Aid tried to smile.

"Um… you're welcome, Prowl." Then the junior medic's systems heated as his nervousness increased. He shifted his weight from pede to pede. "Thank you."

Prowl canted his helm slightly in silent question, truly not understanding either First Aid's sudden anxiety or why he would feel compelled to express gratitude. Sensing the Praxian's consternation, First Aid smiled slightly and was quick to continue. "Thank you for having confidence in my abilities."

"Ah." Prowl allowed his expression to soften slightly as he nodded. "You are welcome. You did well. If at any point in the future I am in need of medical assistance, I would not object to receiving your services again."

First Aid's optics widened as if not expecting that. Prowl did mean every word though, without his new ethical program even coming into play.

First Aid half-smiled self-depreciatingly. "Even for a doorwing?"

Prowl slipped off the berth and was pleased when First Aid did not immediately move to put a 'safe' distance between them. He nodded. "Yes. Even for a doorwing."

Smile turning genuine, First Aid started to step away when Ratchet suddenly called out. "Have you locked down his weapons and long distance comm. systems yet?"

First Aid froze, balking, suddenly almost as tense as he had been when Prowl had first entered the med bay.

Prowl released a shallow vent. He met the junior medic's borderline panicked expression with a rueful one of his own. Seeing the younger mech's hesitance, the tactician settled back onto the berth, resuming the position he had just been released from.

Slowly, hesitantly, First Aid inched closer. Sure, the former Decepticon had cooperated earlier, but he had wanted the repairs. No self-respecting mech _wanted_ to have their weapons and communications controls locked. Instinctively, the medic knew that if Prowl was going to retaliate in any form it would be when he was within striking distance during this procedure.

As if sensing his inner thoughts, the Praxian looked up at him, frighteningly red optics searching for a long moment. Then, to First Aid's utter shock, the ex-Decepticon settled into a unmistakably submissive posture, indicating his complete surrender to the performance of the procedure. It was an effort to help put him at ease, First Aid realized.

First Aid froze mid motion reaching for the controls to magnetize the berth, staring at the totally quiescent mech in front of him and realized Prowl was not even going to protest being restrained to the berth again.

His optics widened. Prowl had returned to the berth specifically so that First Aid _could_ restrain him if he felt the need. It was the only explanation, because such a simple procedure could be done with the patient in any position, even standing.

That realization almost had First Aid's balance systems glitching. It took him a painfully long time to recover enough to resume functioning. In that entire time, Prowl never so much as twitched.

When he could move again, First Aid's hand clinched and then he just stepped toward Prowl, making the decision not to magnetize the berth this time. He was not truly surprised when the control panel slid open for him.

Finding his fingers suddenly shaky, First Aid wasted no time in disconnecting the other mech's weapons and appropriate communication systems and then locking those same controls with medical only overrides.

Once finished, he withdrew hastily. "S…sorry."

He did not know what he was apologizing for and that made First Aid's systems heat again, especially as the Praxian finally relaxed, returning to a more normal posture. Red optics considered the junior medic for a long moment.

When the words came they were not what the apprentice expected. "Do not be."

First Aid's gaze snapped up in time to see Prowl take a step toward him. He tensed as the black and white mech reached up, only for a hand to land reassuringly on his shoulder. "Do not apologize for doing your job, First Aid."

At that First Aid allowed himself to relax completely, armor plating shifting and settling over his frame. Perhaps everything he had seen personally about this Prowl was the truth and the rumors were just that… or it was true that the former Decepticon tactician had truly had a change of spark. That was what Jazz had suggested, regardless of what the Twins or Smokescreen had said.

The younger medic barely had a chance to nod his thanks when Ratchet's gruff voice intervened. "He's right. You did your job. He just has to deal with it." The yellow-green medic turned to Prowl. "Now. Get out of here, Prowl."

Without missing a beat and giving no indication of having been insulted or slighted, Prowl dipped his helm. "Yes, sir." He looked at First Aid and repeated the formal gesture of respectful acknowledgement. "First Aid."

Without noticeable hesitation he turned to Chromia, who had borne silent witness to all that had just happened and reached out to take Bluestreak. She handed the youngling over as if in a daze and tracked his progress towards the med bay doors. She glanced briefly at the medics and then hurried after Prowl.

She was beside him within four steps, following him as he made his way obediently back to his quarters.

"You are unusual." She said at length as they turned down the hall his quarters were off of.

Prowl did not pause as he continued walking. "In what way?"

Chromia huffed. "You just are not what I expected."

They were at the appropriate door and Prowl entered the code to open it and turned to look fully at the blue femme. His voice and posture remarkably polite "In a positive way, I hope."

They shared a long look, Prowl's stoic and expectant, Chromia's guarded and uncertain. Between them, clinging to Prowl's chassis even in recharge, Bluestreak clicked peacefully. When, after a long moment, Chromia made no indication of replying to Prowl's question-like statement the tactician nodded to her formally and ducked into his quarters, the door sliding shut after him.

Chromia stared at the blank expanse of gray metal for a long moment, but never did she hear the locking mechanism engage.

… … …

Chromia sent a ping to her sparkmate, her attention still lost in thought at she tried to process all she had seen in the med bay over the last couple of joors. The reply she got to the ping told her Ironhide was in the Prime's office and that she was welcome to join them.

Smiling slightly to herself, she set a course that would take her there directly. Perhaps speaking to her other half would help put what she had seen today in proper perspective.

Prowl was a Decepticon. He had been responsible for a lot of Autobot losses from the moment he had joined Megatron's forces. She should _not_ be as conflicted as she was about him.

She was admitted to her leader's office without delay only to find Jazz was there as well.

Optimus looked at her, smiling warmly. "How is Bluestreak, Chromia?"

Chromia returned the informal greeting with a nod and answered the question asked. "Better. Happy to see Prowl." She gave a tiny shake of her helm. "Crawled over his spark and fell right into recharge. Which is hopefully what _both_ of them are doing right now. Prowl was exhausted as well."

She looked at Ironhide and asked the question that had started the whole fiasco in the med bay. "How much energon was he given when he was sent out?"

Ironhide frowned slightly. "An orn's worth at full rations, so half-ration. Per protocol. Why?"

Chromia huffed air. "He was almost in stasis when I got to med bay. Ratchet was still working on Sunstreaker and none of the junior medics would even get close to him."

Jazz's visor brightened at that statement and he leaned forward slightly. "Ya mean he didn't even ask for energon?"

Chromia's gaze snapped toward the saboteur, not at the words he uttered, but at the tone behind them and something began nagging at her, the flicker of a thought that just was not finding expression. Her gaze turned thoughtful. "Has he ever?"

Now it was Jazz's turn to lean back slightly, considering. "Not for 'imself. For Bluestreak yes, but not for 'imself."

Ironhide's helm was canted slightly in thought. "Now that I think about it, no. And he seemed mildly surprised whenever I've offered it to him."

Silence descended on the small group as they took that new observation in and added it to all they had made, individually and collectively, concerning the former Decepticon.

Optimus broke the thoughtful silence first, his thoughts dwelling on how Prowl had accepted without complaint a relatively brutal processor scan and then refused to even request sustenance, though he was clearly in desperate need of fuel. Was it a well-hidden pride and arrogance or was it, as his spark was telling him, genuine submission and compliance with the restrains and expectations placed on him?

"Hmm." He started, drawing the instant attention of every other 'Bot in his office. "I know it is customary to keep defectors on half-rations until their loyalty is proven by successfully completing the integration process, but I think we should make an exception for Prowl."

If he had expected protests, he was pleasantly surprised. Jazz and Ironhide simply nodded; Ironhide hesitantly so, Jazz actually donning a slightly relieved look. Seeing in two of his most trusted compatriots tacit approval of his plan, Optimus looked back at Chromia and frowned.

The blue femme remained agitated. "What else happened, Chromia?"

It had to have been dramatic to have elicited that strong a reaction out of her, but she had not protested his unorthodox move and so he waited patiently for her to find the best words to express herself.

He did not have to wait long. Chromia shook her helm as if in disbelief at what she was about to say. "I had to almost twist First Aid's arm to get him to even run a scanner over Prowl and… slaggit! The blasted 'bot wasn't even inclined to demand to be fixed. He probably would have just sat there for orns until someone remembered him."

Ironhide and Jazz exchanged a glance and Optimus steadfastly did not share in that exchange. His own order to the Praxian came back to him: "_You will stay there until you can be seen to by a medic and then you will return to your quarters unless given orders to do otherwise."_

Chromia's report indicated he had followed it to the letter, apparently even if it would have been to his own detriment.

The full weight of what that truly represented hit the Prime like a constructicon's pile driver. He knew Prowl's new ethical programming. He _knew_ the amount of power it gave him over the other mech. He would need to be much more careful how he worded his orders, for Prowl's sake. Especially if he hoped to have the mech choose to completely side with the Autobots some orn. And he knew he must be careful how he approached that topic, for if he pushed Prowl, it might become a decision made in duress and that was _not_ something the Prime was going to allow.

Ironhide found his voice first. "So… did Ratchet fix him?"

"No." Chromia shook her helm again. "First Aid did."

All three mechs were stunned by that. First Aid was by no means a brave or daring individual. That he would dare to do something so uncharacteristically bold as treating a relatively high-ranking Decepticon was highly unexpected. Unless…

"What did he do? Knock him out?" Jazz asked for all of them.

Chromia shrugged weakly. "No, though Prowl volunteered if that would help First Aid not be afraid of him. He offered a lot, actually. Ended up just restraining him to the berth."

She laughed softly, but it was more a sound of awe mingled with consternation than amusement. "He even schemed with Ratchet to let First Aid work on his doorwings. His _doorwings_, Prime. Even knowing First Aid had never actually touched one before. Just so he could get experience because it wasn't '_logical_' for only one mech on the base to have the skills to do so. Ratchet specifically told him he didn't have to do that. It was _Prowl_ who insisted First Aid be allowed to learn."

She shook her helm yet again and looked up at Optimus, her optics blazing. "Optimus, it reminded me of the time you conspired with Ratchet to let First Aid get experience with fine motor wiring by working on your hand back when no one else trusted him enough to let him near such delicate work."

That took all three of the mechs aback once again. To the Prime's knowledge, this was the second time Prowl had been compared to him and Optimus was truly intrigued.

"Indeed?" Optimus released a vent. "I think it is time I get to know Prowl a little better."

For all that his weapons specialist and head of Special Operations were willing to cut Prowl some slack when it came to energon rations and as much as Jazz seemed to want to like the former Decepticon, both reacted strongly to that suggestion. Jazz tensed, sitting straighter, his mouth open, likely to object. But it was Ironhide who got the words out first.

"No!" He pulled himself up short, softening his tone as if remembering it was the Prime he was speaking to, not Orion Pax the archivist. "Not yet Optimus. Let me send him out on a few more patrols. Just in case."

Optimus considered his friend and bodyguard for a long moment and glanced at Jazz, silently inviting his input. Jazz nodded once, echoing Ironhide's sentiment.

The Prime understood their reticence. Despite the fact that Prowl had no choice but to obey, that he could not seek to harm him or any Autobot for now – thanks to that ethical programming – Prowl only had one option to remove those restraints. He _could_ control whom he saw as an 'ally' and if he _should_ change his mind about the Autobots, he could be come a very dangerous mech. Though the matrix was encouraging him to trust Prowl, the Prime knew it was a foolish risk to do so just yet.

Optimus released a vent, acquiescing to his trusted friends senior officers advice.

"When are you sending him out? I thought it would be a few orns before the Twins are cleared by Ratchet for active duty." He directed the question back to Ironhide.

Ironhide's voice remained resolute and he intentionally did not look at his sparkmate, as if not wanting to witness her reaction to his next statement. "I'm not sending him back out with the Twins. His next patrol is going to be with me."

* * *

_Wow. Okay. Well, I hope it's clear why I had to separate this one and the last one. That would have been well over 13,000 words combined. Anyway. Moving forward. At least Prowl is starting to make **some** progress right? _

_I do feel the need to add a little disclaimer. I am not really that familiar with First Aid's character and can only go based on what I have read in other Fanfics. I apologize if it is OC-ish, but I will at least keep it inline with what I have developed so far. If you are highly familiar with First Aid's cannon character and would like to critique my portrayal, I would welcome any constructive comments. If it is close enough to cannon but not quite, hopefully the differences can be 'explained' by the fact this story takes place early in the war, etc…_

_Also, some concerns about Prowl's 'enslavement' to his ethical program have been raised… which is good. Rest assured I, as an individual am not comfortable with a permanent master/slave type of thing…even if it is to his own coding. I promise I will not leave him totally at the whim of his programming… but it might take a while. :)_

_As always, I ask for your reviews and insights/ input into all of this._


	12. Trust?

_I wanted to get this up as soon as I could, because I don't think I'll get another chance before Christmas and didn't want to leave everyone hanging. So, in the spirit of the season: Merry Christmas everyone!_

* * *

The next orn found Prowl sitting at his desk, Bluestreak resting in his lap, the youngling sipping at his energon while regaling the tactician about what it was like to spend a whole two orns with Bumblebee in quarters other than his own.

Prowl listened to the youngling talk; his constant, innocent chatter actually soothing following the events of the previous two orns. It was with practiced ease, developed within the last decaorn, that Prowl was able to ignore the energon Bluestreak was inadvertently taunting him with.

The medical grade Chromia had procured for him had helped, but his reserves had been so drained his fuel levels were still flirting with being dangerously low. When Prowl had onlined he had been chagrined to realize he must have been so exhausted the previous night that he had failed to set his personal proximity alarms. This lapse was discovered by the fact that the small cube of energon had been left on his table and he had been none the wiser to whoever had placed it there. Prowl did not even need to activate his logic systems to be fairly confident the culprit was Jazz.

The thought actually amused him to a small degree. Or rather it was the ironic realization that he actually took some comfort in finding out Jazz was sneaking into his quarters in that it was an indication that perhaps things were returning to normal. Whatever 'normal' passed for in his life these orns.

Though irritated at the invasion of his personal space, Prowl was not naive enough to rule out the possibility that the perpetrator _had_ attempted to alert him to his presence. His system logs indicated the recharge he had fallen into had been far deeper than any recharge he had had since he had joined the Decepticons and was only a couple of levels above a forced medical stasis.

Regardless, it had been exactly what his systems needed because, save for the low energon levels, he felt better than he would have hoped after his experiences the previous orn.

The innocent chime of his entry request startled Prowl out of his revere. And his doorwings flared briefly in an attempt to read the sparksignature of his guest. He identified his visitor as Ironhide even as he was rising to his pedes and granting entry.

Only then did it register that Ironhide had actually _requested_ entry rather than just barge in as he had always done previously.

Instantly alert and on guard at this unexpected change in the Autobot weapons specialist's behavior, Prowl watched the large black mech walk into his chamber.

Autobot and former Decepticon considered one another for a long moment, reading each other carefully.

Then a timid but insistant tapping of a small fist on black shin plating drew both adult mechs' gazes downward to where Bluestreak was looking imploringly up at his caretaker.

"Yes, Bluestreak?" Prowl asked, slightly confused.

Bluestreak's large blue optics blinked innocently up at him. "Why do you always stand up when someone comes in? Because that seems like it would get very tiring and it could get boring and, um, get re-pet-ta-tive."

"Repetitive." Prowl provided the correct pronunciation without thought.

"Yeah. Repetitive." Bluestreak beamed at his accomplishment. "But you do it all the time and I was kinda wondering why?"

Prowl's doorwings twitched at Ironhide's muffled huff even if he could not help but almost smile at the youngling's open bluntness. He answered patiently, glad for the opportunity to do so. "It is about respect, Bluestreak. Standing is a way of demonstrating respect to those in authority."

"Oh…" Bluestreak blinked at that, processing the information. Then he glanced briefly at Ironhide before looking back at Prowl. "But… but no one here seems to like you very much."

Prowl put a gentle hand on the blue and gray shoulder of the worried youngling. "Perhaps. But whether or not one is 'liked' there is no excuse for not demonstrating proper respect for others."

Bluestreak's helm canted to the side as he worked on that and Prowl was acutely aware Ironhide had all but frozen. Still, he did not look at the Autobot, keeping his gaze on his young charge. Then those puzzled optics brightened. "Okay. I get it. Thank you, Prowl."

Prowl nodded, gently squeezing the youngling's shoulder before returning his focus to his visitor.

He tucked his doorwings minutely, tipping his helm formally. "Thank you for your patience, Ironhide. I apologize for the interruption."

It was probably Prowl's imagination, but Ironhide seemed to shift his weight ever so slightly from one pede to the other. "Don't worry about it." There was a pause, then. "Come with me. We are taking Bluestreak to stay with Chromia."

More training, no doubt. Prowl nodded. "Understood."

Neither mech said anything else as they made the short trek to Ironhide's quarters. But they did not have to. Bluestreak talked enough for both of them, flitting from subject to subject; from the color scheme of the hallway to what he and Bumblebee were going to do to random speculations about what different types of energon treats might taste like.

Despite the uncertain and uncomfortable history between them, both adults shared an amused look as they stopped outside the correct set of doors.

Instead of Chromia, Bumblebee was the one who greeted them. He trilled happily up at Ironhide then darted to take Bluestreak up in a tight little embrace. Bluestreak laughed, the sound like song of ringing crystal to Prowl who had not heard such innocent happiness in almost a decavorn. Even Ironhide did not seem immune to the sight.

He chuckled softly as the two younglings moved further into the chamber. "It's a good thing they have each other." The dark mech said softly.

Prowl nodded once, in whole-sparked agreement. "It is."

Then Ironhide's sparkmate entered the chamber from a side room. She froze, seeing the two mechs, and straightened to her full height. She managed to look quite fierce and intimidating even though she was significantly smaller than either of the two mechs facing her. She looked at Prowl then turned her suddenly icy gaze onto Ironhide. She said nothing, just glared.

Prowl carefully kept all trace of confusion or curiosity out of his mien as Ironhide uneasily cleared his vents.

He started to gesture Prowl down the hall, but Chromia's curt, "wait!" had both mechs freezing mid intake. Even the sparklings froze their antics at the whip-like command, though none of the adults noticed.

She stalked closer, giving her sparkmate one final glare before turning the full force of her simmering fury onto the lone ex-Decepticon. Prowl's doorwings flicked stiffly under her sharp gaze, wondering what he had done now.

"If anything happens, pray you don't survive. Because death is exactly what you will plead for when I get my hands on you."

Prowl blinked, not understanding the threat or her reasons for it. He knew better than to deny or try to deflect it so he opted for a careful. "I don't understand."

Blazing sapphire optics shot briefly to Ironhide then darted back to him. "You will. Just keep it in mind."

Then she reached up and slapped the door controls, closing the portal in both of their faces.

Ironhide chuckled softly then, shaking his helm. "Primus. Isn't she fantastic?"

Prowl blinked, eyeing the larger, bulkier mech. "The two of you are definitely a good match for one another."

Prowl's engine stuttered as he realized the impertinence of what he had just said, but Ironhide simply smirked at him. "We are, aren't we?"

Then all levity was gone and Prowl stiffened as deadly seriousness took its place. "She is as serious as a cracked spark-case, though. Don't doubt it. Anyway, come with me."

Ironhide began walking again and Prowl dutifully fell into step. "I still do not understand."

"You will."

Prowl released a vent at how very unhelpful the large Autobot was choosing to be and opted to simply do as ordered and follow after him. When they exited the lift several floors above the level that the training rooms occupied, however, Prowl felt a new trepidation spread through his internals.

That feeling was magnified as Ironhide took them to, of all places, the Autobots' rec room.

Prowl had never been to the base's rec room before and was only able to identify it by the bank of energon dispensers lining one wall and the tastefully arranged seating area filling up the large room. Like a surprising number of things, rec room designs seemed to be universal across faction lines. However, the general tendency for Autobots to prefer brighter lighting schemes gave this rec room a definite airiness its Decepticon equivalents always lacked.

At the moment it was mostly unoccupied, save for the two of them and a couple others.

Silently, growing more and more uneasy, Prowl followed Ironhide toward the energon dispensers. The smell of the place washed over him and Prowl felt his tanks churn, his systems whining in need, which he tried desperately to stamp back into submission. He was on half-rations and he accepted that because he understood the reasons. It had to be a test that Ironhide would rub his olfactory sensors in that fact right now. That or it was an unimaginably cruel joke.

Looking at the ranks of glowing cubes of life-giving energy, Prowl's engine revved. Clenching his hands briefly, Prowl forced his gaze to his own pedes, struggling to gain control over the swiftly growing swell of…

A black hand pushed a large cube of energon in front of him.

Prowl stared, shocked so completely it took him an astrosecond to recognize what it was, another astrosecond to realize he was expected to take it.

Slowly, Prowl's hand unclenched and he took the cube, looking up to meet Ironhide's optics. Only strict self-control kept him from drinking from the cube as long ignored fuel-level warnings flashed with more insistence across his CPU.

Ironhide gestured vaguely to the cube as he took a sip of his own. "What's wrong?"

Prowl's mouth opened but at first he could not form words. He cleared his vents and tried again, not looking at the cube that was being referenced, not trusting himself to do so. "Are you certain it is time for me to receive another energon ration? I received one last night and, as I have observed I have been kept on approximately half-rations, it is too soon for me to receive any additional fuel."

Ironhide just stared at him. "You like being on half rations?"

Prowl's doorwings flicked slightly, his hand tightening minutely, possessively, around the cube. "That was not what I intended to convey. Rather, I was under the distinct impression that Chromia's procurement of the medical grade energon she gave me last night was unscheduled."

Ironhide snorted air through his vents. "Prime is lifting that restriction. Unless you do something that makes us reconsider, you are being allowed full rations now."

Prowl's spark skipped a beat. That was unexpected. The cube was not a cruel joke then, it was actually his. To hide a sudden tide of conflicting emotions he was not sure he could keep securely behind his mask, Prowl dipped his helm formally.

"My thanks."

Intent on maintaining his dignity, Prowl forced himself to refuel at the same unhurried pace Ironhide did, despite how much he wanted to just tip the cube back and drain it. Thankfully Ironhide did not push him for conversation and they refueled in silence. The large cube easily brought Prowl's tanks back up above half full. Then he watched as Ironhide took and subspaced additional fuel.

Before he could ask what was going on, Ironhide gestured him toward the door. "Come on, we have to get you to med bay so your weapons and your comm. systems can be unblocked. It's time for another patrol."

Prowl frowned, but obediently fell into step with the black weapons specialist. "So soon?" His repairs had not fully finalized yet, but he pushed that aside in favor of a more pressing concern, one that made this even more unexpected. "It was my impression that Sunstreaker would be out of commission for several more orns?"

Ironhide glanced at him, an unreadable glint in his optics. "He is. You aren't going with the Twins."

Prowl blinked. "Then who, may I ask?"

The smile Ironhide gave him then was mostly challenge and wariness and not at all pleasant. "You are going on patrol with _me._"

Prowl almost – _almost_ – stumbled on a non-existent crack in the flooring, his optics widening in obvious proof of his surprise. Then, with another blink, he regained outward control. "I see."

Internally, however, he was even more concerned than he had been when he went out on patrol with the Twins. At least Chromia's cryptic and a furious warning suddenly made more sense.

… … …

First Aid greeted Ironhide and the former Decepticon when they entered the med bay. Ironhide's gaze flicked over the entirety of the med bay, looking for its chartreuse master. He huffed slightly when he did not find the mech he was looking for.

"Good orn, Ironhide. Ratchet is in surgery with a patient, can I help you with something?" First Aid asked cautiously, clearly a little antsy.

Ironhide looked at the junior medic and released a soft vent, then he jerked his thumb at the Praxian beside him. "He needs his weapons and comms unlocked. He's going back on patrol."

First Aid frowned slightly. "So soon? His repairs haven't finalized yet and there is a risk that…"

"I know that. Can you do it?"

"I… yes." First Aid looked at Prowl and Ironhide did the same, curious to see how the former Decepticon would react after what he and First Aid went through the previous orn.

"Prowl." First Aid hesitantly greeted the Praxian himself, but the greeting was almost a question as well."

"Good orn First Aid." Prowl greeted with a dip of his helm. "Do you wish me to…?"

"Uh, no, no. It's alright. I can do it right here, um, if you…" First Aid took one step toward Prowl.

"Of course." Prowl acknowledged the statement and then, to Ironhide's minor surprise, he acknowledged the junior medic's unspoken concern by adopting a totally non-threatening posture.

As First Aid took another step toward Prowl, the tactician slid aside the appropriate panel, giving the medic access. First Aid reached up, hesitated a moment, and then quickly disabled the override he had put in place not very long ago. Once he released the controls he hastily stepped back.

Prowl nodded, closing the panel and looking at the young medic. "Thank you, First Aid."

First Aid smiled, an expression Ironhide did not expect to see on the younger mech in the presence of a Decepticon… former or otherwise. "You're welcome and… Prowl?"

Prowl's optic ridge quirked. "Yes?"

"Take it easy out there, or you'll be right back in here again. Your repairs on not finalized yet and you won't be able to take as much abuse without sustaining damage, especially your right doorwing and your left leg."

Prowl acknowledged the statement. "Duly noted, medic. I appreciate your concern."

"Concern?" Ironhide snorted air through his vents. "He's just doing his job."

"No, I…" First Aid glanced at Ironhide nervously and quickly returned his attention to Prowl and smiled, ignoring the black weapons specialist. "You are welcome, Prowl."

When Ironhide glared at him, First Aid's engines made a squeaking sound and beat a hasty retreat.

"Come on." Ironhide retraced their steps and Prowl followed him out of the med bay and through the base. The larger mech took them to the eastern perimeter of the base then stopped, just outside the primary defense grid and turned to Prowl with a low, warning growl in his engine.

He saw the tactician tense at his aggressive posturing, processing what it represented. There would be only one mech in charge of this patrol and it was not going to be the former Decepticon. Not wholly unexpectedly Prowl's initial reaction was defensive, but that quickly faded as he averted his gaze, doorwings drooping fractionally.

Seeing what he wanted, Ironhide snapped an order as he would to a first orn trainee. "Stand by for transmission of mission data."

"Standing by." It was said with the rapidity and stiffness as to hint at being an automatic response.

Ironhide hesitated for just an astrosecond, then transmitted the data.

Prowl received the highly compressed data burst, scanned it for malware and then accessed it within astroseconds of receiving it. It took only another handful of astroseconds to process it, analyze it and then he looked up at Ironhide, optics glowing brighter than the Autobot had seen in some time. The tactician nodded.

It was more data than he had been given on his last patrol. Much, much more. This was the type and quantity of information he would have expected when being sent on a mission. It gave the tactician hope that, perhaps, it meant they were taking serious his participation this time around and that it was not simply a complex test of his loyalty and intentions.

It did not take long before his battle and tactical computers practically hummed at the input as variables were weighed, analyzed and compared, the results woven together to create a detailed and almost eloquently beautiful picture.

For the space of one or two sparkbeats, Prowl reveled in the freedom of being allowed to do what he was created to do, even if only at a very peripheral level, simply enjoying the play of the calculations in his processors. Then everything was almost brutally categorized and sorted, organized into a practical report.

Less than half a breem once the data pack was transmitted, Prowl's optics cleared and he looked at Ironhide. "We are most likely to encounter Decepticon patrols at the following locations."

Prowl sent the information to his mission commander before continuing. "Also, it appears they may have a staging area at these coordinates, though that is not confirmed. If they do, defenses will likely be greatest at these points." He sent that information as well.

Ironhide watched as the Praxian's optics became a touch wary, as if the other mech was not sure how his next words would be received. "Sir, based on the information you have given me, I do not believe the two of us could successfully take that position."

Ironhide growled softly and was rewarded by a very slight twitch of the tactician's doorwings. "We can at least try to confirm its location."

Ironhide did not even wait for Prowl's confirming nod before he transformed and took off toward their target patrol zone. Prowl was less than an astrosecond in doing the same.

Though he did nothing to reveal his inner thoughts, Ironhide could not help but consider two things.

First, as he had – mostly – expected, Prowl had easily acquiesced to his command of this mission. That would cut down a lot of the processor ache that usually accompanied dealing with former Decepticons in this type of situation. As a breed, the 'Cons seemed to constantly feel the need to test those in authority, only submitting when those placed over them demonstrated unquestionable strength and the willingness to keep them in their place by force. Perhaps Prowl was truly different in that regard. Maybe. That did not mean that Ironhide would let down his guard any time soon. He had lived to long to take such foolish risks.

Second, Prowl's processing ability had quickly narrowed down the mission objective from "discover any possible Decepticon activity" to "determine the existence of a suspected Decepticon stronghold." As an ancient warrior build, Ironhide greatly appreciated having a more detailed and focused mission objective.

Perhaps, just perhaps, this would be a pleasant as well as a productive patrol. Company not withstanding. Maybe.

… … …

Prowl and Ironhide traveled for half an orn before entering their assigned territory. Ironhide transformed and Prowl did likewise, looking at his mission commander, waiting for orders.

It had been decavorns since Prowl had been in this position, but he felt as he had his first orns on the Enforcer Corps in Praxus when he had been assigned as a junior partner for a much older, crustier veteran of the corps for his introduction to street patrol.

In time, he knew, he would learn to anticipate Ironhide's commands and would not need to be quite as attentive. Ironhide looked around their immediate area and then focused on Prowl.

"What are we likely to face in a Decepticon patrol here?"

Prowl blinked, frowning slightly as he shook his head. "That data is unavailable, sir." He answered cautiously. "However, given the probable size of the staging area, it is unlikely their patrols will be larger than three mechs."

Prowl paused, looking at Ironhide closely. Neither the Twins nor Hound or Springer had been interested in his evaluations. Would Ironhide prove different? "Sir, if we take out a patrol, it will alert their base we are here. We will loose the element of surprise."

The feral grin Ironhide gave him made Prowl's engine hitch. "Not if we do it right."

Prowl hesitated a moment longer, his doorwings twitching slightly as if unable to decide if they should droop submissively or flare in silent challenge. He proceeded carefully. "I believe I can plot a course that will take us to their base without bringing us into unavoidable contact with their patrols."

Ironhide snarled and Prowl quickly continued, hoping to mollify the larger mech, not really wanting to start off his patrol with injuries delivered by his own mission commander. "We can, of course, confront a patrol on our way out."

Ironhide stepped toward him, his snarl followed by a low growl from his engine. "Are you afraid of a little fight?"

It was a challenge and an accusation at the same time. Looking at those now blazing sapphire optics, Prowl knew a wrong move here would have painful consequences. He evaluated his options.

He opted for the blunt truth, as he read the tactical situation, delivered in as respectful a manner as he could manage. He averted his gaze, allowing his doorwings to tuck back ever so slightly.

"No." He answered Ironhide's question calmly. "However, it is more conducive to the successful completion of our mission to avoid outright combat until we have retrieved the needed intelligence, sir."

There, it was in Ironhide's hands now to decide how to respond.

Expecting more argument at the very least, perhaps even a physical rebuttal, Prowl was surprise when the bulkier mech actually gave him a slight smirk. Then Ironhide backed off a step, standing down from his challenging posture.

The Autobot paused for just a moment, then transformed. "Which way?"

Completely shocked Prowl could only stare for an embarrassing astrosecond before he managed to collapse into his own alt mode. Still having a hard time believing the other mech would trust him enough to allow him to actually do so, Prowl carefully took the lead.

As if he had no doubts, at least no doubts he would allow the tactician to see, Ironhide fell in behind him without comment. For Prowl it was rather surreal. For Ironhide at least the look in Prowl's optics had been entertaining, even if he kept his systems at an even higher state of readiness than he normally would. Just in case.

… … …

The two mechs traveled in near absolute silence for roughly two joors, weaving their way through the metal landscape and around the remnants of buildings – an ancient industrial center it appeared. Prowl stayed in the lead, but Ironhide was right behind him and the Praxian did not doubt the more aggressive mech would hesitate to rescind the minute amount of trust he had been granted if he felt the need.

Finally, deeming they were close enough for the moment, Prowl slowed even further and then transformed mid motion to crouch behind a jagged metal outcropping. He scanned the area below their position intently, though he felt Ironhide transform and crouch behind him.

Finding what he wanted, a small building masterfully designed to blend into the derelict surroundings, Prowl pointed to it. "There."

His voice was barely audible and Ironhide just nodded. Both mechs carefully recorded every byte of data their sensors could detect. It did not take long.

Finally Ironhide released a short vent. "Neither of us are spies. The rest of the intelligence will have to be for Spec Ops to gather."

Prowl nodded. "Yes, sir. However, I believe we could easily locate and survey their outer defenses."

Though he had still spoken softly, Ironhide's gaze snapped to him like a targeting laser. "I thought you already knew where they were."

Prowl shook his helm. "This facility was unknown to me previously. The locations I gave you were conjecture based on my understanding of previous Decepticon facilities."

"I see." Ironhide's tone was even more cautious sounding than before and Prowl wondered what he had done to suddenly garner the increased suspicion. Therefore he was momentarily thrown when Ironhide continued. "Lead on, then."

Recovering swiftly, Prowl nodded.

Opting not to return to alt mode, Prowl guided them around the perimeter of the secret Decepticon base, far enough out to hopefully not attract attention, but close enough to allow sufficient surveillance of their defenses. It took another three joors before the task was completed but they had been able to locate the perimeter defenses as well as the positions of the sensor net that protected the base. As usual, Prowl set his battle and tactical computers to analyzing the data as it came in.

When they had returned to their starting position, Prowl gave voice to a conclusion his tactical computer was 99.33% confident with and which it had also found statistically significant. "I do not believe they have any aerial forces stationed here."

Ironhide glanced at the portion of the Decepticon stronghold they could see from this vantage point. "What is the significance?"

Prowl blinked, the question was asked with genuine curiosity, and without a hint of veiled distrust or suspicion. He answered easily. "This base is too remote for grounds scouts to do much. Its location is intriguing from a tactical perspective but improbable. Unless…"

Prowl stiffened, the weight of his sudden epiphany making his systems stall momentarily as he comprehended the significance of what his calculations were telling him.

Ironhide's weapons spun to life, though whether it was defensiveness directed at Prowl himself or in response to any possible threat the tactician might have noticed, Prowl did not know. He answered quickly, just in case it was the former. "Unless this base is not intended as a scouting outpost."

Ironhide growled, but again the underlying intention of the sound was lost on Prowl. "Then what else would it be?"

"A safe-house." Prowl looked at Ironhide and could not miss the growing disbelief in the other mech's optics. Knowing he was wearing the larger, bulkier mech's patience thin – and very much aware of how dangerous that fact was to his continued wellbeing – Prowl continued quickly. "Consider the fact that all of our aerial recon did not show it, the pattern of the perimeter defenses, the way it is strategically located a short distance from the main highway connecting Iacon and Stanix… it would only take four to six more of such outposts – one for every major artery connecting the city to neighboring metroplexes - to complexly surround Iacon. I believe it is possible they are way points for intelligence coming _out_ of Iacon."

Ironhide growled, his optics blazing hotly and he turned, weapons whirring to life and he looked ready to storm the Decepticon facility single handedly. On instinct, Prowl shot forward, grabbing the other mech's arm.

The tactician realized his mistake a moment before he was thrown to the ground. He did not fight or attempt to get the larger mech off of him, but he did lift a hand to circle Ironhide's wrists. Black fingers dug into white armor, but Prowl only grunted. He would not be so easily intimidated, not when the safety of Ironhide himself, the safety of Iacon in general – and therefore Bluestreak – and the safety of every Autobot in the city lay in the balance. He might not be able to defend himself physically, but he would attempt to do his duty regardless.

He met those fierce blue pinpoints of light without flinching. "If we reveal we know of their presence, they will simply move locations. We need to ascertain _all_ Decepticon positions and then launch a coordinated attack on all of them simultaneously or we accomplish _nothing_, sir."

Ironhide's systems were hot, but Prowl could tell he was at least processing the warning. But Ironhide growled again, hands tightening painfully over his armor, making his systems hiss in protest.

"Says you!" The word '_Decepticon'_ was unspoken but almost shouted all the same.

Any trust Prowl might have gained was rapidly fading. Prowl's processors raced, desperate to find a way to keep the trigger-happy mech from making a fatal decision.

He pressed his point, shaking his helm minutely. "How long have your scouts been collecting the data you sent me? How long have your patrols missed this? Do we have that much time to find them again if they do relocate?"

Prowl's grip on Ironhide's wrists tightened a fraction. "I am 96.51% certain that if we reveal we are aware of this one location by attacking it, the others will simply be moved and while we are attempting to locate them, this one will simply be reestablished in a new location. You and I are simply not enough firepower to take that base, we _will_ fail and the odds favoring our survival are so miniscule as to be virtually nonexistent."

"You question my command?" Ironhide growled.

Prowl's optics widened and he hesitated but shook his helm again. "You have yet to issue such a command therefore I am not questioning one. Though I believe it to be a mistake, if you order me to do so, I will fight beside you. All I ask is that you take into consideration the greater ramifications of that choice. Iacon will be left without knowing such a breach in their security even exists."

Ironhide glared at him for a long moment, then his look softened into a hard stare. Slowly, much to Prowl's surprise, Ironhide let him up. Prowl watched warily as Ironhide stood, backing away to give him space. Only when it was clear Ironhide was truly standing down did Prowl push himself back to his own pedes.

Once he was upright, brilliant cerulean optics locked onto his again, Ironhide's voice was laced tight with warning. "When we get back, Intelligence and Tactical are going to want a _full_ debriefing."

It might have been his imaginative subroutines again, but Prowl thought he heard an emphasis on the word 'full.' Regardless, Prowl nodded, not truly expecting anything different. Not with something this significant.

"Understood." He hesitated only a sparkbeat before continuing. "I will comply."

He knew that last comment trapped him, but at this point Prowl did not care. It was too important, the stakes were too high, and he knew he would have willingly complied with whatever a 'full debriefing' might entail even without his new ethical programs coming into play.

Ironhide considered him a moment longer then nodded. With an open palm he then gestured Prowl to lead them out. It was an acknowledgement that Prowl was the best mech to take point in getting them back into safer territory as well as a tacit statement that what little trust Ironhide had deemed him worthy of was not completely lost.

Prowl did not allow himself to dwell on that fact, not willing to risk reading too much into it.

… … …

When they made it back to Iacon's head quarters, Ironhide had already signaled an urgent communiqué to the Prime, Jazz, Smokescreen and the rest of the Command Team. At the main gates, Ironhide transformed. Prowl did the same a few nanoseconds later.

Ironhide looked at the former Decepticon, considering him closely then spoke with that same clipped, drill-master voice. "Come with me."

Prowl followed silently, only now allowing himself to think about what might come next. Yes, as a returning soldier with important intelligence, he expected to be questioned and thoroughly debriefed. But he was also a former enemy of the Autobots, a prisoner of war.

With a resigned vent of heated air, Prowl prepared himself for another processor scan.

He followed Ironhide through the base and back up to the briefing room he had been questioned in the last time he had returned from a mission. That similarity did not help settle his tanks at all and only reinforced how precarious his position was.

Most of the command team was present: Optimus, Smokescreen, Red Alert, Jazz and Blaster. Prowl wondered about those who were absent, but as it was not his place to speculate, said nothing. To his surprise, and mild relief, he was not magnetized to his chair. Even so, he was careful to make no threatening moves, well aware the seating arrangement – with Ironhide on one side and Jazz on the other – was not incidental.

Ironhide supplied the bulk of the debriefing, as mission leader, sharing the details of the mission itself and the basics of what they had discovered. Then attention was turned to Prowl.

The Praxian managed not to react outwardly to the sudden tension of being under the intense scrutiny he now found himself. He would have had to have been blind not to sense the growing alarm and general unease and anger as Ironhide had laid out the groundwork of their disturbing discovery.

Optimus addressed him then and Prowl wanted to shudder under the powerful mix sheer authority and subdued threat in the deep voice. "We want every byte of data concerning the Decepticon installation _and_ your evaluation of it."

Prowl released a quiet vent, a simple straightforward command. And this time his evaluation was being requested rather than ignored, though he dare not read too much into that fact.

He bowed his helm. "Understood, Prime. I have little to add to Ironhide's report except the technical information." He hesitated for a moment. "Transmitting now."

Prowl databurst all six of the mechs in the briefing room and then waited silently as they processed the information.

Smokescreen was the first to speak, eyeing Prowl suspiciously. "When did you have time to compile this analysis?"

Prowl spoke evenly, not hinting at the sorrow he felt at his former apprentice's continued distrust. "On the way back to Iacon, though the preliminary work was completed before we left the patrol zone." He paused, reading the varied expressions of those around him. "Have I done something wrong?"

"No." Jazz shook his helm, but his optics were likewise intense, even if hidden behind a visor. "Is this all that you have?"

Prowl shifted his gaze to the smaller, silver mech next to him, careful not to react to the amazingly polite warning in the saboteur's tone. "It is."

He saw the brief flash of ingrained suspicion war with something else on the mech's face and resignedly lifted his right arm, placing it on the table between them, sliding aside the panel covering his wrists' dataport. "If you wish to confirm."

Everyone at the table – save for Prowl who kept his gaze on Jazz – looked at the proffered dataport, taking in the silent offer it represented. An offer for something none of them had planned on requesting, though once it was before them, the logic of doing so in these circumstances was inescapable.

When Jazz hesitated, Smokescreen spoke, his voice a touch desperate though mostly challenging and biting. "If this _isn't_ everything, I won't be able to devise an appropriate response."

That had the benefit of being an accurate statement and Prowl nodded almost imperceptibly, both in agreement with the stated fact and in understated approval of his former student's insistence on getting everything he needed to do his function.

None of the other mechs, save perhaps Optimus, noticed the former Decepticon's reaction to Smokescreen as the air was suddenly alive with the tale-tell buzz indicating silent communications passing between them. For his part, Prowl kept perfectly still as he waited for their decision.

After nearly a breem, Optimus' gaze ranged over his gathered officers and all attention snapped respectfully to him. Whatever he said was delivered with a firm, determined look that settled finally on Smokescreen. The Autobot tactician looked unhappy, but he settled back in his chair yielding to his leader's decision. The Prime, Jazz and Ironhide all appeared firm and unbending, though Ironhide also appeared unhappy. Red Alert simply appeared perplexed and a little nervous, as did Blaster.

By that alone, Prowl was able to discern what the decision had been. He looked at Smokescreen. "You do not trust me." He said softly.

Blazing, angry optics snapped up to him, "Why should I? You have already betrayed me once."

Prowl considered those words, not bothering to deny them. "Do you trust the data and analysis I have provided?"

As a tactician, he knew how vitally important it was to be able to trust the intelligence one worked with. He also knew how critical it was for a tactician to have absolute confidence in any analysis done by others. He would not allow himself to be the reason Smokescreen failed to perform his function if something as simple as a processor scan could allay those concerns.

Smokescreen's lip plate twitched. "I have no choice."

"Yes, you do." Prowl looked at his, still open wrist port.

Smokescreen's optics narrowed where others around the table widened, though no one attempted to intervene as the Autobot tactician sneered. "You are well aware hacking isn't my specialty."

Prowl nodded. "I am also aware you know enough to do what needs to be done if you wished. Or Jazz could do so for you."

Smokescreen hesitated, then shook his helm, seeming to deflate. "No he won't. And… it is too risky at this juncture for me to do so on my own. I will trust Jazz's judgment."

Prowl considered his former apprentice for a moment longer, wondering exactly what those words implied about the saboteur seated next to him. At length, and considering such conjecture to be more dangerous than helpful, he simply dipped his helm, withdrawing his offered wrist port.

Optimus released a vent of air, looking at his senior tactician. "Thank you, Smokescreen. I do not want to keep you from your duties."

"Yes, sir." Smokescreen stood, recognizing a dismissal when he heard one, bowed slightly to the Prime and then left.

A look from Optimus had Red Alert and Blaster joining the mostly gray and white Praxian in heading for the door.

Now left alone with only the Prime, Jazz and Ironhide – with two of them flanking him as he faced the Autobot leader – Prowl straightened, unsure of what was going to happen.

As the silence dragged, the Prime's gaze grew even more intense and searching, and Prowl lowered his own respectfully. He prepared himself for some new command.

"Prowl." Optimus' voice demanded Prowl meet those intense optics with his own. Only then did the Prime continue. "We have decided, in light of your recent behavior and what we have observed to date, that it is time to extend the liberties you have here on base."

Prowl blinked, his thoughts coming to a sudden standstill as the words he heard clashed in complete juxtaposition to what he had expected to hear.

The Prime smiled slightly at his reaction. "Your actions will still be closely monitored and we will require you to make your intended movements known to either Jazz, Ironhide or Red Alert. However, you may move between the your quarters, med bay, the rec room, the observatory deck and the wash racks at your own discretion."

Alarm shot through Prowl. "Is that wise, sir? Most of the base population still sees me as a threat."

Prime cocked an optic ridge. "Then it will be up to you to prove otherwise."

Ironhide harrumphed, growling lowly. "Anything happens to violate our trust in this lands you right back where you started: in the brig."

Optimus shot a quelling look at Ironhide though he addressed Prowl. "Is there anything else on base you would like permission to have access to?"

The question was asked with calm serenity even if the tension in the room suddenly skyrocketed because of it. Prowl stiffened visibly. Why would they ask him that?

Oh, there were many places he wanted to go, places he could be of assistance. But he was not fool enough to think such requests would be granted. It was far too early and while they might trust him to go on the occasional patrol, he expected he would not be trusted with much beyond that for quite a while, if ever. Even asking for such clearance would likely find him heading straight back to the brig.

He could tell they awaiting his reply with open suspicion, aware this was as much a test of his character as it was a genuine offer. He _wanted_ to believe the Prime was genuine.

But Prowl really had no _need_ to go elsewhere than what had already been granted. He was about to say as much when a different idea entered his processor. There was something he could ask for that might be neutral enough to be approved and yet would also help him be more prepared for whatever the future might bring.

He looked up at Optimus Prime, then lowered his gaze, formally bowing his helm. "Thank you Prime, for your generous offer. It is far more than I expected. I… I would like to request your permission to use the training rooms. And, if it is not too much, if I could have access to some blank datapads."

Prowl could not help but notice all three reacted with surprise, and that made him nervous.

"Ya serious?" Jazz's sharp, incredulous question did not help reassure him.

"I did not mean to overstep…" Prowl hastened to assert only to be waved to silence by a flick of the Prime's hand.

"You haven't." The Prime assured. "We are just… surprised that is all you asked for."

That made sense. Prowl released a vent, his doorwings relaxing a fraction of a centimeter. "My needs are few and, as I have no actual function on base, there is no need for more." He explained softly.

Prime considered this for a long moment then he nodded. "Very well. I will inform Red Alert of your new privileges. Report to med bay for your post mission check and systems lockdown. Then you are on your own until called on. I still do not want you leaving the base or the assigned areas without escort."

Prowl nodded, actually relieved to have an order, something he could follow without having to worry about making a mistake. "Yes, sir." He looked at Ironhide. "Bluestreak?"

Ironhide's expression was unreadable. "Chromia will meet you in the med bay."

Prowl nodded and rose to his pedes. He bowed to the Prime and took his leave, his actions mirroring almost perfectly those of Smokescreen.

Once the door shut once again, Ironhide looked incredulously at Jazz and then at his leader. "The practice rooms?"

Jazz's claws were drumming on the table and he looked back toward the door, deep in thought. "Don't worry, 'Hide. I'll find out what programs he runs."

* * *

_I know, I said not to get used to the longer chapters, but I just keep making them long… Oh well, I suspect no one is complaining. :) Just so you know, I was considering including that last section in with the next chapter, but decided it would fit just fine here, even if it made it a little longer than I intended. A little bonus, in the spirit of giving..._

_Anyway, please review! (Consider it an easy Christmas present to give, if it helps any :D )_


	13. Analysis

Some of the junior medics skittered away from Prowl as he entered the med bay, retreating to the relative safety of the Intensive Care Unit on the far side. It was discouraging, but Prowl refused to allow himself to be affected by the reaction. First Aid, however, cast a hard look at his coworkers and wandered over, though not without caution.

"Prowl… Ratchet is attending to an emergency in one of the training rooms. Can I help you with anything?" First Aid came to a stop a respectful distance away, his armor flared slightly in evidence of his tension. "Are you here for your post mission?"

Prowl nodded once, glad that Ratchet's apprentice had had the courage to approach him on his own. "Indeed." He confirmed.

"Um… Okay. Right over here, please." He pointed to a berth.

Prowl complied and felt sensory energy wash over his frame as he settled onto the metal surface.

"Hmm." First Aid began thoughtfully, though he frowned with concern. "Only some minor damage to the superior hinge casing of your left doorwing. Your auto repair systems should be able to take care of it, though it would happen quicker if the dents were removed…"

Prowl was looking at him closely. "Do you feel you can do so on your own?"

First Aid's optics widened slightly, though he nodded. "It is a simple procedure, the question is if you are willing…"

"I am." Prowl interrupted. "I have disabled my pain grid in the affected area, tell me what else you want me to do."

First Aid stared, aware that even though he had not said it out loud, the former Decepticon was once again offering to allow any security measures the medic might feel the need to utilize. In that instant, with that realization, First Aid decided he would do his best not to look on Prowl any differently than he would any other mech, faction symbol not withstanding.

"Just hold your doorwings at a 100 degree angle."

Prowl bowed his helm and did precisely as asked as First Aid circled around behind him. Within astroseconds, the doorwings were immobilized and the junior medic unsubspaced a small magnetic stylus used for subtle shaping of thinner metal sheets and ran it over the affected hinge casing with firm, sure strokes, though he was extra careful not to apply any more pressure than necessary. He might not have performed this particular task on a very many doorwings, but he had done it countless times to other joint casings.

He felt some of the tension in Prowl's frame let go as one particularly deep dent was corrected easing the pressure on the underlying hinge and sensory wires, though he also heard the short intake of air that was associated with the sting of the metal snapping back into proper shape.

Finished with the work, First Aid snapped off his tool and quickly remobilized his patient's doorwings.

He was smiling shyly as he circled back around. "Alright, everything else looks good. You are free to go."

Prowl stared at him for a moment, then cocked an optic ridge. "Are you not also going to lock down my weapons and communications systems?"

First Aid's frame heated and his engine sputtered. "Um, right, of course."

He reached for Prowl's neck only to find the Praxian had slid the appropriate panel open for him again. Perhaps, First Aid allowed himself to consider as he quickly made the adjustments, reestablishing the medical-only override, perhaps Prowl was being completely honest with them and was truly not a threat to them. History not withstanding, the former Decepticon had never been anything but accommodating and supportive; not exactly behavioral traits First Aid would have expected.

Ratchet had briefed him on the mech's revamped ethical programming, but even that did not completely explain what he had seen and experienced first hand. While a stringent ethical subroutine might have forced Prowl to cooperate, it could not make him offer emotional support and encouragement.

Perhaps it was just the hopeless optimism that Ratchet swore would see him to an early smelting, but First Aid _wanted_ to believe a mech as notorious as Prowl _could_ have a change of spark and find redemption.

He was smiling again as Prowl looked at him, sliding the protective armor plate back into place over his neck. "Again, my thanks, First Aid."

"Any time Prowl, I…"

The med bay door swooshed open and a blue and gray form streaked through it to collide with Prowl's leg. The tactician looked down at the small form now beaming up at him, arms wrapped tightly around the plating he had collided with. He was dimly aware that Chromia had followed the sparkling into the medical ward at a more sedate pace, but he kept his optics on his young charge.

"Prowl!" Bluestreak breathed with relief evident on his young face. "I missed you… again."

Before Prowl could respond, the youngling was scaling his frame with all the confidence a little one should have with its caretaker, trusting the larger mech to protect him from harm either in the form of a tiny digit crushed between armor seams or from falling should he slip.

Once Bluestreak was settled over Prowl's spark, one long black and white arm wrapped comfortingly around him, the usually talkative youngling was soon clicking and whistling contentedly.

First Aid released a light vent of air, his voice soft with amusement and a touch of awe. "Younglings. They never cease to amaze."

With another look at Prowl, First Aid left the two Praxians to return to his other duties.

Prowl turned his attention to the blue femme. "Thank you, Chromia."

Chromia's optics widened slightly, the simple gratitude making her uncomfortable. "Of course." She paused, but felt she should add more to that. The tactician _had_ brought her sparkmate back… completely unscathed. And that was saying something if what Ironhide had shared with her about the mission was accurate and she had no doubt it was.

She cleared her vents and intoned, somewhat awkwardly, "Welcome back."

Prowl's optic ridges arched upward, then he dipped his helm. "Thank you. Was Bluestreak well in my absence?"

"About like last time." She considered the Praxian closely, noticed the carefully concealed lines of exhaustion and lingering tension in his frame. "I don't think he's the only one that needs recharge. Now get."

Prowl suppressed an amused chuckle, only letting his doorwings twitch slightly. Still not sure exactly where he stood with Chromia he opted for safety and stood, keeping his grip on Bluestreak secure. "Yes, ma'am."

She smiled slightly and waved him to the exit. Acquiescing, Prowl headed for the door. He remembered he was supposed to notify at least one of the Autobots and settled for databursting both Jazz and Ironhide that he was returning to his quarters. And then he sent the same databurst to Red Alert, remembering how the security director had over reacted the first time he had walked around unescorted.

As much as he was not about to admit to the fact, Prowl was very much looking forward to surrendering to the bliss of recharge.

… … …

Nearly a decaorn after his first patrol with Ironhide, Prowl rolled back onto base just behind the Weapons Specialist, this time from a completely uneventful orn-long patrol. This had simply been a routine, close proximity patrol of the Iacon base itself. Important for security purposes but typically monotonous.

Thankfully, unlike his last patrol, Ironhide never found a reason to knock him to the ground. Of course, Ironhide had also not found much cause to engage him in conversation either. But that too was alright with Prowl.

Following a last, almost abscent-minded order to report to med bay, Prowl greeted First Aid only for the medic to be interrupted by a loud, familiar voice from the ICU. "Who is it now! Better not be one of those fragging Twins. The slagging pit-spawn."

The last sentence was said in a rough, tacked on grumble that prompted Prowl to look at First Aid in question. The young medic made a show of rolling his optics even as he called over his shoulder. "I can handle it, sir."

Prowl's optic ridges remained cocked as First Aid turned back to him. "Do I want to know?"

First Aid shrugged even as sensory energy brushed across Prowl's frame. "Were you aware how much an a nuisance the Twins can be?"

"Intimately."

Prowl's dry reply was enough to make First Aid smile. "Then you know what happened."

Prowl only grunted in unspoken understanding, granting access to his weapons and communications systems as the medic reached for his neck. Once that task was completed, Prowl offered his thanks for First Aid's service.

"I'm glad you managed to come back from a patrol and that's all I had to do." First Aid gave him a surprisingly friendly look. "Good orn, Prowl."

"Good orn, First Aid."

Leaving the med bay, Prowl checked his fuel level and decided he really should refuel. He released a vent of air. The rec room would be crowded at this time of orn. But it would be irresponsible for him to allow his energon levels to drop below their current level, not when he now had an option to prevent it.

With resignation he sent Jazz, Ironhide and Red Alert a quick databurst alerting them to his intended destination.

As always, walking through the halls of the Autobot base during high traffic times was an uncomfortable experience. Those who did not shy away from him eyed him with open suspicion. Often times his audios would catch comments from mostly nameless mechs. Many of said comments were various expressions of concern about security with him 'free to roam as he pleased.' A few malcontents would mutter questions as to whether their leaders were glitched for letting the 'slagging 'Con out of his cage.' Then there were also the times that he was called a 'sparkless murderer.'

Prowl would do his best to keep his doorwings from twitching in those cases and pretend he was not aware of the antagonism and distrust. He knew he had only been fulfilling his duty as Megatron's lead tactician. He knew he had been acting with the best intentions of trying to end the conflict quickly and spare innocent lives. But he also knew he had been trying to achieve those goals by ensuring the permanent offlining of as many Autobots as possible.

And now his ethical subroutines no longer let him brush aside their condemnation of his previous actions, just as he could not escape the self-imposed guilt of having ordered all Autobot medics targeted.

It was a routine that repeated every time Prowl found himself in a highly populated area of the base, which was why he did his best to avoid crowds. Try as he might, his doorwings were only at a very stiff droop by the time he made it to the rec room.

Once he stepped through the entrance a brief hush ran over the gathered mechs, but it was followed by an equally quick round of murmurs. He was painfully aware of how many sets of optics followed his silent progress to the energon dispenser. Despite propriety, Prowl attempted to finish refueling as quickly as he could.

To his chagrin, some of the louder antagonists started sharing their biting comments louder than was strictly necessary, gathering attention. Their boldness leant bravery to a few others who soon joined in.

Prowl did not respond to the insults that were becoming increasingly personal and obnoxious. He had almost finished his cube when a large red frame stepped up to his table.

The mech stood beside Prowl, but his gaze was on the group that was causing the scene. More than one set of optics watched the drama unfolding before them as they might a overpriced holovid.

"Inferno." Prowl greeted Red Alert's second soberly.

The soft, polite greeting caught many silent observers by surprise.

"This does not look good." Inferno said quietly, then looked down at the Praxian. "Some of those could scorch the paint off a pit miner. Makes you want to take a blaster to a few helms, I bet."

Prowl shook his helm. "They have every right to their opinions, and good reasons for the ones they are expressing. I wish no harm on any of them."

Inferno's optic ridge cocked, though he was just as surprised as those watching. "Yeah, well, I can't say the same about them. You need to leave. Now."

Prowl only stared up at him for an astrosecond, but then, to everyone's utter perplexity, the former Decepticon stood. His actions, however, caused even his highly verbal detractors to fall silent. Unwittingly, his next words – though uttered softly – were heard by everyone in the rec room.

"Of course, Inferno. I know you must be off duty and I apologize for being the cause your leisure time has been interrupted." As a former enforcer, Prowl had an innate respect for any mech serving in a similar function. Thus, he deposited his almost empty energon cube in the red mech's hand – held out for that purpose – and made his way immediately for the exit.

Once he was gone, Inferno glanced down at the cube. Even he was surprised the former Decepticon would capitulate and follow his order so quickly. He was even more amazed that he would so easily surrender his ration of energon without even demanding he be allowed to finish it.

For his part, Prowl started to head to Chromia's quarters to collect Bluestreak but then changed his mind. There were still several joors left in the orn and he did not want to rob the youngling of time with his friend. And, if he was honest with himself, the incident in the rec room had rattled him more than he wanted to admit.

No, there was someplace else he wanted, no _needed_, to go first. Something he needed to do.

Making up his mind, Prowl activated his comm. and notified Jazz, Ironhide and Red Alert that he would be in one of the practice rooms.

… … …

Smokescreen entered the Prime's office when granted access and Optimus looked up from his terminal. Jazz, who had been standing over his shoulder pointing to something on the screen, looked up as well. The smaller mech stepped back as Optimus pushed away from the console to acknowledge the Autobot Lead Tactician.

It did not take mystical insight from the Matrix for the large mech to see the white and gray Praxian's agitation. "What troubles you, Smokescreen?"

Smokescreen stared at him for an extended astrosecond and then cleared his vents, looking down. "I'm sorry, Prime. I can't find them. I have tried. I have even tried to use the algorithms Prowl used, but… I am simply not programmed to do this type of analysis."

Optimus could tell how uneasy it was for the proud young tactician to admit to failure and was about to offer reassurance, but Smokescreen looked up then, a soft whining coming from his engine. "I just… I just don't have the processors for it. I looked at the same data Prowl and Ironhide had and I never saw it."

Light blue optics dropped to Smokescreens pedes again. "I'm sorry, I just… I don't have the tools necessary to…"

"Yes, ya do." Jazz interrupted the light in his visor gleaming.

Smokescreen and the Prime exchanged a brief glance before looking at Jazz for an explanation. Seeing their looks the saboteur hastened to provide it. "Prowl. He offered his skills and abilities if you ever had need of them."

Smokescreen recoiled visibly. "We can't just trust him. What he could do with that much data…" He shook his head, leaving their imaginative subroutines to fill in the possibilities.

Jazz waved a clawed hand dismissively. "I'm not saying we trust him. He won't do anything without supervision."

Optics widening, Smokescreen was a moment in finding his voice. "You mean…?" Jazz nodded. "But he would never agree to _that. _It's humiliating, absolutely humiliating! I wouldn't ask that of _anyone_… even _him_."

Jazz merely shrugged, carefully not looking at Optimus. "If it's necessary, it's necessary. We can give 'im the option, so it'll be his choice."

Smokescreen hesitated, looking at the silver minibot as if seeing him for the first time. Then he nodded, his entire frame shivering slightly. "I'll get what we need from Ratchet. But I doubt he'll go for it."

"He's in a training room. I'll go get Prowl." Jazz almost rubbed his hands together in anticipation, but kept himself from doing it.

Optimus was frowning slightly as he pushed away from his desk, standing. "I will meet both of you with Ironhide in the tactical command center."

Both of the smaller mechs nodded and the Prime waited until it was just him and Jazz again before he spoke, stopping the silver saboteur midstep. "I hope you know what you are doing, Jazz."

Jazz shot him a smile. "Always, Boss bot."

Optimus grumbled. "I know you won't risk the security of our base, but you know as well as I that if he feels forced into this, it will accomplish nothing except perhaps turn him against us."

"I think ya might be underestimatin' him, Prime. But I'll leave _that_ aspect of this in your capable hands." Jazz saluted jauntily and excused himself from his leader's office.

He knew from Prowl's databurst a joor ago that he was at least _supposed_ to be in one of the training rooms. He activated the signal on the tracking device welded to Prowl's frame to determine an exact location. It popped up on his HUD immediately. Training room five.

Jazz used his overrides to open the training room doors, realizing even as he did so that it was unnecessary; they were not locked. Whatever he might have expected to see, what greeted him was quite the opposite.

Instead of… whatever… he was met with a quiet, almost peaceful, circular chamber with vaulted ceiling. The walls were polished to a mirror shine and while there were an impressive array of bladed weapons displayed along one curve of the wall, it was the centralized, raised mat that drew the saboteur's attention. The mat took up nearly the entire floor space, leaving only enough space along the perimeter of the chamber to allow one mech Optimus' size to circumnavigate the room. Above even Optimus' impressive height were a series of banners waving gently in the programmed breeze. It was well lit, but not harshly so, ensuring to sharp shadows fell.

It was perhaps the lighting that made the form sitting in a properly meditative posture in the center of the raised mat look almost surreal to Jazz. Or perhaps that was just the unexpectedness of the whole scene.

"Is there something I can help you with, Jazz?" Prowl asked without even flicking a doorwing.

Jazz took another cautious step into the training room. He recognized the simulated room for what it was and it introduced a whole new set of possibilities regarding the mech who had programmed the simulation. Potentially dangerous possibilities.

But he did not let such speculations affect his tone. There were many questions he wanted to ask Prowl at that moment, but this was not the time. "Ya 're wanted in Tactical Command."

Prowl moved then, jerking slightly before long legs unfolded and the Praxian stood. The movement was more graceful than Jazz remembered seeing in the former Decepticon before and it made him even more suspicious.

However, the expression Prowl gave Jazz as the tactician turned to face him was almost completely blank. "That is unexpected."

Jazz barely refrained from snarling. That monotone sentence sure sounded a lot like something Soundwave might say and his previously positive thoughts were quickly taking a darker turn. "Yeah. No kiddin'. And none of us are happy 'bout it either. It's too soon for this, so don't expect a warm welcome."

Prowl frowned at the saboteur's suddenly biting tone but nodded nonetheless and moved to deactivate the simulation before standing in front of Jazz. "Too soon for what?"

Jazz did not answer right away; instead he turned and marched down the hall. Only once Prowl was at his heels did he reply. "You'll see."

Prowl drew in a system full of air and muted his vocalizer. That three word combination was proving not to bode well for him. Such evasiveness only served to increase his nervousness at this rather sudden and unexpected summons. But he did not press the issue, well aware the smaller mech was not required to tell him anything and that the more he pushed the less he would likely be given in the future.

When they reached the tactical command floor of Iacon base, Prowl did his best not to let his natural curiosity overtake him. This was not someplace he had been before so he took in as much data as he could without arising suspicions. There was a centralized terminal that controlled an oval-shaped holographic display well. Currently the holographic generator was not powered on, probably in anticipation of his arrival. Along the perimeter of the spacious room were various terminals each with their own consoles; most of them were currently occupied. A door recessed into the far wall indicated the tactical department leader's office. Smokescreen's office. The layout was similar to the tactical command that had been utilized by the Praxian Enforcer Corps.

Prowl took all this in even as he followed Jazz to a separate console, one that was somewhat offset from the rest of the command center. He saw that the Prime was there, as well as Ironhide, Ratchet and Smokescreen. Drawing closer to the small gathering of high ranking Autobots, Prowl quickly scanned the console itself and saw the interfacial data hub sitting on its surface like an innocuous decoration.

The tactician was careful to keep the sudden concern from showing on his face and focused instead on the mechs gathered around, hoping to get some indication of what was coming from them since Jazz had been so very unhelpful in that regard.

Smokescreen, easily the most expressive of them all, looked distinctly uncomfortable, displeased and even a tad bit embarrassed. It was an unusual combination, though one he had seen before in his former apprentice; usually when he was about to do something he was not sure was a good idea.

The Prime was calm and powerful, radiating a peaceful control over the entire situation by his presence alone. Yet even his posture and expression hinted at some unidentified concern. That alone was sufficient to make Prowl slightly uneasy.

Ironhide was clearly unhappy and suspicious. Bright cerulean optics narrowed as they met Prowl's in open warning and watchfulness.

Ratchet, while he appeared carefully watchful as well was mostly guarded, his expression that of professional coolness.

Interestingly, they gave him the time to make these observations and then to look at the gathered equipment as well, almost as if they wanted him to reason out what was about to be asked of him. Prowl took them up on the unspoken offer and examined the tools more closely, aware he was being intently studied by five pairs of optics.

It was rather clear they had something they wanted him to do, but from the presence of the interfacial hub, it was also clear they did not trust him to do it unsupervised. That they were in the tactical command center suggested it was a tactical analysis of some kind… and Prowl suddenly understood the meaning of Jazz's cryptic words.

He had not yet satisfied their requirements for progressing to the third stage of his integration process and yet circumstances were making them feel as if their hand were being forced in the matter. He also realized just how fragile the ground the trod was in this singular moment.

Seeing the light of understanding dawn in the Praxian's optics, the Prime spoke, drawing the former Decepticon's gaze. "Prowl, we have been unable to identify likely locations of the safe-houses you suspect are surrounding Iacon. Will you review the data for us and give us your analysis?"

Prowl did not answer immediately. They had not found what he had warned them about, but instead of dismissing his warning, they were asking for his analysis yet again. It hinted that they trusted him enough to at least want to consider his evaluation. Yet they did not appear to trust him at all. There was only one reason for that that he could think of and it made the whole prospect much more tricky.

He answered slowly, deliberately, not looking away from the Prime's intense gaze. "I cannot give an accurate analysis if data is excluded because of the security threat you believe me to be."

Optimus nodded with equally deliberate regality. "We understand that. You will be given all the data we currently have." He paused. "We are not asking you to plan an assault, we are simply looking for probable locations so we can confirm or refute their presence at all."

Prowl hesitated a moment longer, glancing at all of them again. Since they did not trust him, that left only one logical outcome once the analysis was completed. Was that why Ironhide was here; as back up?

He was peripherally aware that they were now the center of attention for the entire tactical command center. But he brushed that observation aside; it was insignificant in the larger scheme of things. He had already made the decision to help if he was ever given the opportunity, he did not even need his new ethical coding to reinforce that determination.

After a long couple of astroseconds, the former Decepticon released a vent and reached for the appropriate cord on the interfacial hub. His voice was completely inflectionless. "And who will be monitoring me during this procedure?"

A collective wave of barely noticeable relief, tinged with surprise, spread through the frames of all the gathered Autobots, including those not officially part of the group.

Optimus answered, his voice not giving away any of his own astonishment or concern. "Jazz, Smokescreen and Ratchet."

In other words, Smokescreen to make sure he was doing what he was asked, Jazz to stop him if he did something he shouldn't and Ratchet to back up Jazz if needed. Prowl blinked in his own mild surprise, then frowned almost imperceptibly. That many invading minds in a one-way interface would be very uncomfortable…and humiliating; especially in such a public setting. But he had handled worse.

Prowl straightened slightly, not allowing himself to think about the audience he would have. He had offered his services to Smokescreen and he would provide them when asked. It was a testament to his skill and the level of risk they thought he represented that they would take such drastic steps in order to both utilize his abilities and still safeguard their security.

He could not, in good conscience, begrudge them that.

He nodded. "Understood."

Prowl was about to plug the cord into his primary data port when the Prime reached out to stop him. "This is not a demand or an order."

Prowl looked up into unfathomable blue optics for a long astrosecond and felt the weight of the Prime's sincerity. He did not know why, but he felt he could trust it, _wanted_ to trust it and so, against all his instincts, chose to do so. And he appreciated what the Prime was doing, or rather, _not_ doing.

"My skills are needed, Prime?" He asked softly.

The Prime hesitated, as if he did not want to admit a fact they both knew but not, Prowl could tell, because of wounded pride. The Prime honestly did not want Prowl to feel unduly pressured to agree to this procedure. Or what was sure to follow after. "Yes."

Prowl offered the Prime a reassuring bob of his helm. "I offered to be of service in whatever capacity you saw fit." He allowed the corner of his lip plate to quirk ever so slightly. "Personal comfort and dignity were not stipulated in that offer."

Optimus just stared, along with the others, clearly surprised at the statement as much as at the nonplussed manner in which it was delivered. Prowl, however, wasted no more time, girding his mind for what he was about to do, he slid the cord home.

He synched with the hub, or rather allowed the hub to synch with his CPU and then looked up at the three mechs who would be supervising this exercise. His expression was clearly expectant. Ratchet's professional mask was firmly in place, as was Jazz's. Smokescreen's bafflement, on the other hand, was clear for everyone to see.

It took a moment, but when Prowl cocked an optic ridge, Smokescreen literally shook himself and quickly connected first to the hub and then connected the hub to the terminal. For the sake of his own sanity, Prowl waited until both Jazz and Ratchet had also connected and synched with the hub before he lowered his primary firewalls.

He felt Jazz press against his other firewalls and stiffened, looking at the saboteur. Jazz stared right back, his gaze unwavering and Prowl realized that, of course, they would want to monitor such things as his intentions and personal responses to what he learned about them. It was the only way they could know for sure whether he was looking for any advantage he could take, or even if he was truly doing his best to process the data he was to be given. It was also the only way they could ensure access to his processors if they felt it necessary to deal with anything they felt suspicious.

With a slight nod to the head of Autobot Special Operations, Prowl lowered the requested firewalls. He grimaced slightly as doing so immediately made the pressure on his processor increase by several times. Thankfully, even though there were three minds invading his, it was not quite as bad as during an active scan, as this time they were not actively searching for anything. No, this time the spy and the medic were simply observing and he was fairly confident that, at least during the analysis itself, they would do nothing else unless he stepped out of line.

Dismissing their presence for the time being, Prowl turned his attention to Smokescreen.

The other tactician faltered under his scrutiny, then bristled, engine revving in warning.

Prowl tucked his doorwings in a clearly deferential gesture and averted his gaze to the other Praxian's chassis. He signaled his readiness to proceed.

Smokescreen continued to glare at him for a moment longer, then nodded, relaxing slightly. He signaled the terminal and data began pouring in through the hub.

For exactly 2.3846 astroseconds, Prowl simply allowed himself to relish the feel of the sheer volume of data that flowed across his processors. Then he coolly tasked his tactical, logic and battle computers to roughly categorize and prioritize the information. That would be the single, most time consuming aspect of this analysis, both because of the volume of data he was working with and because it was the most important stage. Even the most miniscule amount of important data missed or wrongly categorized would throw off everything that followed. Because of that, while he proceeded quickly, the process was not so fast that his observers had trouble following what was going on.

Yes, it was a distinctly humiliating sensation to have three invading minds inspecting and observing how his processors worked, but Prowl was able to compartmentalize his own embarrassment in favor of accomplishing the task at hand. The first, rough categorization and filtering of data took just over a breem.

Then the real analysis began. The three monitors were again witness to the stunning efficiency with which Prowl routinely operated as multiple processors whirled simultaneously at speeds it was impossible for any one mech to track it all at once.

Whatever Jazz and Ratchet might have been expecting, all they got was the calm detached professionalism of a trained, highly skilled tactician.

The complexity of the problem and the speed with which Prowl was dealing with it, combined with the presence of three intruding minds in a one way interface, started taking its toll just over two breems into the analysis.

Prowl's doorwings trembled slightly at the increasing discomfort, but he continued without pause and without slowing. As he did so, the dull ache gradually grew into a pounding throb.

Three breems into his work, Prowl began feeding the results back into the terminal, using it to help process the data. The terminal would compare the results and pair them with additional information that might be related. Knowing what he was looking for, he narrowed the terminal's parameters and started processing the now re-hashed data.

At some point, he had shuttered his optics to block out excess sensory data to his taxed processors. Four breems into his analysis he was unable to keep from grimacing, the throb in his processors threatening to overcome his concentration. But he pressed on, double-checking and finalizing his calculations.

By four and a half breems he was organizing his final report, when he froze mentally, his vents stalling momentarily.

He glanced at Smokescreen. _/Smokescreen…/_ He highlighted a minor data feed his processors had just identified as important.

_/I see it./_ Smokescreen sounded angry. _/Do you know who?/_

Prowl shook his helm minutely. _/Not with this data set. My apologies./_

Smokescreen released a vent of air. _/Probably just as well./_

Recognizing that was all the response Smokescreen would give him, Prowl returned to finalizing his assigned task. He went over everything one more time and then wrapped up his end of the analysis. He logged his results and signaled his completion of the task.

Smokescreen wasted no time in unplugging the hub from the terminal and then disconnecting himself from the hub.

Prowl had raised one hand to rub his faceplate, though he made no move to disconnect from the hub, keeping all processors still. He waited silently for what he _knew_ was coming – something far more uncomfortable and degrading than a simple processor scan – and he did so with resigned assent to the procedure, making no move to protect himself from it.

Jazz simply stared at him, however. "Ya aren't goin' to disconnect yourself?"

Surprise flashed through Prowl and he knew the medic and the saboteur caught it, as he had kept his firewalls lowered as he had been ordered. Even so, his only outward response was to online his optics and look incredulously at the saboteur. "You know as well as I that doing so while you are still in my processor would fragment yours."

Prowl looked away. "Besides, I know there is a reason neither of you have disconnected yet. I won't try and stop you."

The silence stretched again. Then, with an unreadable look at Ratchet, Jazz reached over and disconnected himself from the hub.

Ratchet watched him for a moment longer then reached forward to disconnect his own cord. Prowl's optics widened in genuine surprise, he spoke, causing the medic to halt, mid-motion.

"Are you not going to wipe the data from my memory files?"

All of the Autobots who heard the softly spoken, genuinely confused question reacted with horror and shock. Seeing their reactions, Prowl hastily explained. "It was my impression that I had not earned enough trust to have access to such information as I had to process for this task."

"So you expected us to strip it from your mind once we had what we wanted?" Ratchet demanded, his anger tempered with sympathetic dismay.

Prowl blinked, caught off guard by the medic's obvious revulsion of the prospect. "It was a distinct possibility, one I would not have been surprised by."

Jazz's hand convulsed into a fist on the console's surface. "And ya agreed ta do it anyway?"

Prowl's optic ridges furrowed as he shifted his gaze to the saboteur's "Of course. Like I said, personal dignity and comfort were not stipulated in my offer."

The Autobots exchanged looks, though Ironhide never looked away from Prowl. Optimus said nothing, but Prowl could somehow tell there was a wealth of emotions swirling behind the large mech's control. Smokescreen seemed very disconcerted while Jazz actually appeared like he was not sure what he should be thinking.

Ratchet moved then, drawing the black and white Praxian's attention. The CMO was coolly evaluating as he removed his cord. Releasing a soft vent of relief he could not deny, Prowl also quickly separated himself from the hub, plucking it from his data port.

Ratchet spoke then, handing him a pain chip. "Tell me, do you always run your battle and tactical computers at combat speeds when doing routine analysis?"

Prowl accepted the pain chip gratefully, fingering it a moment before sliding it into his wrist port. "No. Nor was that my active combat level. That was alert level and yes, that is the speed I normally operate under."

Smokescreen was staring at him. "You completed a multi layered analysis in under five breems."

Prowl nodded, perplexed Smokescreen of all mechs, would be surprised by this. "Yes, and while the volume of data was considerable, it was not overly excessive and there was only one, simple goal in mind. That was the primary contributing factor to the speed and ease with which it was completed. If I were calculating possible strategies for attacking the installations, it would have taken considerably longer, especially if you also wanted to know what other options were available."

Smokescreen's blank astonishment morphed into a slight frown. "That was easy for you, wasn't it?"

The two tacticians looked at each other for a long moment which none of the others wanted to break. Prowl did not miss the accusatory light that flicked across his former apprentice's optics and thought he understood. Prowl had taken his skills and put them to work for the Decepticons. That action had pitted them against each other, even if never directly, when they should have been friends… mentor and pupil…colleagues.

In Smokescreen's optics, Prowl's choice had not only been a direct betrayal, it had also taken away the younger mech's teacher before his training had been completed, thus robbing him of knowledge and the confidence that comes with _knowing_ one had successfully met the stringent standards of a high profile apprenticeship, of knowing that he had mastered the skills inherent in the trade. And now, Smokescreen doubted everything he had thought he knew about Prowl

Prowl's betrayal of Smokescreen was not just factional, it was very, very personal for the other tactician, while it had only been a simple, coldly logical choice for Prowl. And that, perhaps, made it even that much more painful for the younger mech. This was not the first time Prowl had faced that fact, but this was the first time he had done so fully understanding its impact on his former apprentice.

True, Prowl might have submitted to a humiliating procedure in order to lend his own processing ability to a problem Smokescreen was unable to deal with, but that did not mean Smokescreen was ready to forgive him.

Smokescreen saw the wisps of pained understanding in the former Decepticon's optics, and his own only tightened in response. He would not forgive Prowl that easily, but that did not mean they would not work together when necessary.

Knowing his former apprentice as well as he did, Prowl was able to read all of that in the white and gray Praxian's expressive face with relative ease.

All of this an more was behind the underlying aggravation in Smokescreen's incredulous and heated question, a reminder that what was easy for Prowl _should_ have at least been possible for Smokescreen, except it was not… because Prowl joined Megatron before he finished training the younger tactician.

Prowl nodded ever so slightly, acknowledging the unspoken terms Smokescreen had placed on their relationship more than the question asked. "This is what I was built and programmed to do."

The two considered each other for another long astrosecond and then Smokescreen deliberately turned his attention to his Prime. Recognizing the dismissal, Prowl dropped his own gaze briefly as Smokescreen spoke.

"That is not all. Prowl also identified a disturbing pattern in the data."

Prowl's optics widened slightly, though he said nothing. With that statement, even if he refused to forgive him, Smokescreen was acknowledging the validity of Prowl's analysis. It was more than the former Decepticon had been expecting.

"Disturbing in what way?" Optimus asked, optics flickering between the two Praxians before settling on the Autobot.

Smokescreen's engine revved with frustration and anger as he exchanged a short glance with his former mentor. Then he looked back at the Prime. "We have a possible traitor in our ranks."

* * *

_Guesses as to who this 'possible traitor' is? Anyone? Even if you don't want to guess, please review._


	14. Insight

Unsurprisingly , Prowl was dismissed from the tactical command center before much discussion about the possible traitor was had. Without much noticeable emotion, he accepted the Prime's dismissal with equanimity. He even managed to nod politely to the mech, Trailbreaker, who was assigned to escort him off of the command level.

Trailbreaker, now walking somewhat nervously beside him, was roughly the same size as Hound, making him only slightly more bulky than Prowl. But Prowl hardly paid the mech much attention. Likewise, he paid no attention to the many sets of optics that followed him from the tactical command center. He walked directly and with purpose, not willing to give anyone doubts he would do exactly as he had been ordered.

Unfortunately, he had been given no orders other than to leave the command level.

So he left, not really sure what he would do once he was gone.

Even though his pedes were carrying him away, Prowl continued to process what had happened. He knew that if Smokescreen had not been in his processor for that analysis, there was little chance they would have accepted the possibility of a traitor. In a way, he was glad the other tactician had been in his mind if for no other reason than that.

He did not know if it was embarrassment over the show he had doubtlessly provided or shame for finally realizing the depth of what his decision to become a Decepticon had done to Smokescreen that made it difficult to look anywhere but directly ahead. Smokescreen was one of the most brilliant defensive strategists Prowl had ever worked with. It was the potential he had seen in the younger Praxian that had first spurred him to take the white and gray enforcer under his doorwing as an apprentice.

After he had decided to follow Megatron, the only thing they had had in common had been Praxus.

Now they had both lost Praxus. If Prowl had chosen differently all those vorns ago, if he had chosen to lend his skills and abilities to the Autobots from the beginning, was it possible that the loss of Praxus could have been avoided?

A part of his processor knew it would be arrogant and painfully illogical to believe he, one single mech, could have prevented such a widespread catastrophe. And he also knew that since he had been unable to predict such an outright slaughter even when he had worked for Megatron directly, it was highly illogical to think he would have been able to predict it any more accurately _without_ being so intimately involved. That did not stop his tactical computer from attacking the question.

Nor did it help that the answer it returned was a nauseating, _:results, inconclusive:_ that would haunt him for vorns.

But Smokescreen had been more than just an apprentice. He had once been a good friend, a reliable subordinate and a trusted comrade.

Prowl understood his own actions had destroyed that relationship. He understood and he blamed no one but himself.

He tried to keep a solid lid over his emotions, as he had since Praxus: as he had had to do since joining the Decepticons. But now he felt his control crack.

He was not sure what exactly had caused the crack. Was it the humiliating analysis he had just endured? Was it finally _understanding_ what he had done to Smokescreen? Was it the fall of Praxus and all the innocent lives destroyed by it? Was it the weight of suspicion and distrust he continued to feel in those around him regardless of his attempts to prove himself? Most likely it was all of the above.

Prowl knew he could not net his control slip. Not now, not here. It was not safe. He was desperate to find some way to regain that control and struggled to tamp his rebelling emotional center back into submission, not understanding why it was suddenly more difficult that normal. Why it was affecting his logic centers so dramatically.

All he got for his efforts was a sharp, needlelike pain stabbing into his processor. His vents hitched, his doorwings flicking harshly. It was enough to cause Trailbreaker to glance at him sharply.

Irritated anew at the affective loss of control Prowl forcibly tucked his doorwings apologetically but did not deign to comment.

He did not miss that the Autobot was now considering him with increased wariness. Where before he might have apologized for putting him on edge, now Prowl simply wanted to snap at him. But Prowl knew that was not an option, either from a self-preservation standpoint or an ethical one. So he said nothing.

"Is something wrong?" Trailbreaker asked after a long moment.

"No." Prowl replied curtly.

"Right." It was clear Trailbreaker did not believe that statement but he did not press the matter and Prowl was, despite everything, thankful for that.

He released a vent, forcing himself to behave in a civil manner and felt the tension grow in his processor. "I appreciate your concern, Trailbreaker, but you need not worry."

Trailbreaker's only response was a noncommittal huff of air expelled through his vents and a muttered. "I'm not."

Of course not. Prowl was not surprised by that. He was a former Decepticon, why would any Autobot care what happened to him. It was a simple fact, the natural order of existence, a well-known reality. Why did it suddenly feel like a punch to the face plate?

He recognized that his grip on his emotional center was quickly falling apart, much like a frayed polymer-fiber cord under extreme tension.

Distantly Prowl remembered Ratchet's warning about an instability in his logic and emotional interface and wondered if this was a manifestation of that. He had no way of knowing without allowing the CMO to examine his command cortex again. But the thought of _asking_ the medic to look at his mind after what he had just endured was enough to make his tanks churn.

No, he had to find a way to handle this on his own.

Only one possible method came to mind.

They stopped at the lift that would take Prowl off the command level. Trailbreaker pushed the control, summoning a lift, then looked at Prowl. "Well, this is as far as I go. I suppose I should thank you for your efforts on our behalf."

"Your gratitude is hardly necessary." Prowl intoned quietly. "Though I suppose I should appreciate it any way."

It sounded much, much more curt and rude than Prowl had intended. But it was impossible to take back what had been said so he did his best not to flinch when Trailbreaker's engine revved.

"Look, you. Just 'cause you helped us out just now, don't think you can get by with being an aft." Trailbreaker hissed, his own armor flared in obvious offence.

Prowl was already occupied trying to control out of bounds emotions and the regret he felt at being unfairly offensive only made it worse. Even so, he was still able to acknowledge the truth in Trailbreaker's statement.

The shame of being dressed down by a low-ranking mech, along with the embarrassment of knowing the dressing down was well deserved, only added to his internal struggle. Then again, he _was_ a paroled prisoner; even the lowest ranking Autobot still outranked him. Ironhide, Jazz, Ratchet, Hound and Hardstrike, let alone the Twins, had been far harsher with him and he had not had this much trouble dealing with it. Why was _justifiable_ correction so difficult to swallow this time?

Thus Prowl forced himself to meet the other mech's optics for a brief moment before averting his gaze and bowing his helm formally. "You are right, Trailbreaker. I had no right to be rude. My apologies." The lift opened and Prowl stepped into it. Without looking up he added, "Thank you for escorting me here."

He depressed the button and the lift doors snapped shut before he could even see Trailbreaker's expression start to morph into surprise.

He _had_ to get control or he would loose everything he had gained so far.

Deeming himself without any viable alternative options, Prowl sent a quick databurst to Ironhide, Red Alert and Jazz. His meditations had only suffered a mere 12 breem interruption; an interruption that was virtually negligible. With determined strides, Prowl returned to the training room to continue the only exercise he knew could help him in his current struggle.

… … …

A joor later Prowl was finishing his second cycle of meditation, using the ancient processor techniques to help calm his systems. His success was only marginal, however. Yes, he had managed to reinforce his outward control over his emotive expressions, but inside the storm still raged unabated.

With a weary release of air, Prowl prepared to begin a third cycle of meditation when, behind him, the door to the training room buzzed open. Prowl stiffened, recognizing the spark signature immediately.

Alarm shot through him only to be ruthlessly suppressed as he stood. He turned and bowed in one smooth motion. "Prime."

Optimus stopped moving just inside the training room, allowing the door to close behind him, the hologram reforming to hide the entrance. Cool, blue optics considered the former Decepticon for a long moment then the Prime nodded, acknowledging the formal greeting. "Stand at ease, Prowl."

The Praxian straightened, though he did not truly relax, surprised the Prime would seek him out here - alone. Remembering his failure in social graces with Trailbreaker, Prowl determined not to make a similar mistake with the Autobot leader.

"To what do I owe the honor?"

It sounded stilted, even to Prowl's own audios, and the towering blue and red mech did not respond immediately. Instead, he took another step toward the tactician even as he allowed his optics to rove over the holographic chamber, carefully taking in every available detail.

Slowly the Prime's gaze returned to Prowl, the weight of it making him want to shiver. "Do you truly think that way or are you simply saying that to be polite?"

The calm, almost conversational way the question was asked contrasted with the seriousness in the Prime's optics and had Prowl stiffening, then he frowned. The truth was that he _was_ simply trying to be polite even if logically he also knew it _was_ an honor to have a private audience with the Prime. The fact that the two conflicted so strongly made the ache in his processor feel like a sudden vice and he was not sure what he should, or _could_ say that would not be either a lie or a breech of etiquette.

"Will my words be believed?" The sharp question slipped out, hissed between his denta, before Prowl could sensor it and his vents hitched in horror at the impertinence of the question. Clearly he was not in as much control as he had thought.

One of the Prime's optic ridges quirked in challenge. "Do I have reason _not_ to believe them?"

Prowl frowned, even as flustered as he was he recognized a baited question. Logic dictated Optimus was attempting to trap him, just as Megatron would have, even if past experience with Optimus himself refuted that assumption.

It was testament to how rattled Prowl's processors were that he did not stop to more carefully consider the situation before he replied. More importantly, he would never have allowed the hint of inappropriate bitterness to touch his voice. " I am confident Ironhide, Red Alert or Smokescreen could give you plenty of reasons."

The Prime's helm cocked ever so slightly to one side as he continued to study the Praxian. "And that frustrates you, does it not?"

Optimus could see the former Decepticon's doorwings flinch violently, if stiffly, and knew by that alone that he was hitting a live neural wire. The way Prowl's optics quickly darted to the floor was further evidence. The Prime saw the silent struggle in every line of the Praxian's frame, could feel it where the Matrix rested against his spark and _knew_ the mech was fighting an internal battle the likes of which he had only seen hints of before.

He waited for Prowl to respond; silently hopeful the tactician would be honest. He wanted to help and sought for a way to do so, but he needed more insight into the underlying problem, an opening he could use.

Prowl's words, when they finally came were carefully bland and yet the frustration and simmering anger were clear beneath the surface. "My objections to their opinions carry little weight. Why should I waste my time?"

Optimus then better understood what was troubling the former Decepticon. He had seen hints of the depth behind what had transpired between his lead tactician and Prowl and had felt the change that had overcome the black and white Praxian. He quickly considered how to best proceed and, after a sparkbeat, decided to press harder, pushing Prowl even further, trusting what he felt from the Matrix.

"If you truly believe that, then you likely believe speaking to me is a waste of your time as well."

The change in Prowl's demeanor was instant even if not openly broadcast. The boiling frustration evaporated, leaving in its wake a lick of fear and chagrin that the Praxian could not entirely conceal. Then that impassive mask reasserted itself over his expression, though in an uncharacteristically halting manner. It was as if he was having to struggle to keep it in place, something Optimus had not seen before, at least not to this degree.

The smaller mech opened his mouth to speak, but Optimus did not let him. "Can you blame them for their suspicions?"

Bright red optics blazed and then fell to the ground. "No. I… I spoke without thinking Prime. I apologize."

Optimus frowned slightly. "Perhaps. But they were honest words conveying how you honestly felt." Prowl's doorwings flicked in a minute wince, but he did not try to deny the observation.

Optimus released a vent, turning away slightly to remove some pressure from the Praxian. "Like you cannot blame my officers for their suspicions, I cannot blame you for your frustrations."

Prowl's helm snapped up, his optics dilating with surprise. Optimus merely smiled faintly, explaining. "The integration process is _designed_ to _be_ frustrating because it is when stressed that a mech's real spark shows itself. Those who are sincere will persevere. Those who are not will get fed up and eventually retaliate."

Cobalt and ruby optics locked and in that moment Prowl was struck again by the sheer presence radiating off the Prime while Optimus was granted a small glimpse at the deep pain that Prowl had somehow managed to hide, he suspected, since he had first stepped pede in Iacon.

Drawing in a vent of air, Optimus chose to let Prowl think about what he had said and changed the subject. He glanced around, deliberately nonchalant. "This is a Circuit Su dojo, is it not?"

Prowl blinked, thrown by the sudden change in topic, the pain in his processors sharper, his balance systems threatening to send him reeling and he felt as though he only remained upright by sheer force of will.

Nonetheless, he answered. "Yes, sir. A recreation of the one in which I trained in Praxus."

Optimus nodded, almost absently, as he carefully considered what he was about to do, cautiously comparing the risks to what he knew about the mech before him. A mech who was standing with clenched hands and flared vents, very much at odds with himself. Optimus _knew_ Prowl was not a Decepticon. And while he might not be an Autobot, he was still Cybertronian, one whom he felt that he, as Prime, had a duty toward.

The Prime turned to face the black and white mech with calm dignity, his optics constricting as he focused all of his attention on what was coming. "It has been a long time since I have had a proper work out. Perhaps you would indulge me in a sparring match?"

The sudden alarm that shot through Prowl was unmistakable. Incredibly, the Praxian even took a small step backward as Optimus stepped up onto the training mat. Where anger and frustration had dominated the smaller mech's frame moments before, they were now superseded by a hint of fear. But not, Optimus suspected, simply because Prowl feared he would loose such a match. No there was something more to it, something deeper and longer standing.

Prowl took another small step away from him, doorwings flicking though his tone was remarkably free of inflection. "I am… not sure that would be appropriate, sir…"

Optimus waved away the concern. "While I may not be a master in the discipline, I assure you I am far from untrained."

The light it Prowl's crimson optics grew more desperate, a multitude of unspoken thoughts racing behind his mostly masked expression. "But… I cannot…"

Optimus' reply was gentle, though his stance was unwavering. "I know you cannot _intentionally_ kill me. I saw your new coding. But this is just a friendly sparing match, not a fight to the death."

"But…" Now Optimus could see the barest hints of fear in the mostly stoic mech.

"Would it help if I made it an order?" Optimus cut him off and then did not give him a chance to answer, dropping into a fighting stance. "Defend yourself."

Without any additional warning, the Prime attacked Prowl with a kick aimed at taking out one of the Praxian's knees. Responding swiftly on instincts alone, Prowl avoided the blow and then blocked the strike aimed at his helm with one arm. The doorwinged mech spun away from the larger one, managing to divert a punch before it could land on his shoulder.

Prowl danced away, circling the Prime warily, his optics dilated as he watched the larger mech. Optimus smiled faintly, though it was now hidden behind his battle mask. He did not make the Praxian wait long before attacking again.

Strong silver, blue and red arms struck again, a flurry of motion that belied Optimus' size and mass. Prowl managed to deflect each blow, grunting with the effort, though he did nothing more than that. He defended himself as he had been ordered and managed to hold his own with relative ease considering the size difference between them, but that was all.

Realizing that, Optimus backed off, turning his advance into a circle. "This is a _sparring_ match, Prowl. You _are_ allowed to be on the offensive."

Prowl's optics widened, though whether it was in surprise or concern, Optimus was not sure. Then, in a flash of black and white armor, it was as if a switch had been thrown. Something snapped within the former Decepticon. A low, short, static-laced keen escaped his vocalizer even as he launched himself into a sudden burst of speed and aggression.

Moving with deadly grace, not an ounce of energy wasted on useless motion, Prowl collided with Optimus in a carefully controlled dance of blows and strikes. First Optimus' legs were taken out, then, his balance failing, a hard blow landed against his chassis and he found himself crashing to his back on the mat, Prowl's now openly angry and desperate faceplate looming over him with blazing ruby optics.

Optimus could feel the tremble in the frame pinning him to the mat. He knew with absolute certainty now that the smaller mech's skills in the discipline of Circuit Su far outweighed his own. He knew the danger he was in as he felt one of the former Decepticon's hands close over a major energon line within his chassis. And yet he felt no fear.

Engine revving as his vents heaved air Prowl growled, fingers tightening minutely, demonstratively, around the vulnerable fuel line. "Is _this_ what you had in mind, Prime?"

Optimus did not move, by his complete stillness yielding victory in that round to the Praxian. "This is _exactly_ what I mean."

Prowl's optics widened at the calm, even statement and he drew back, withdrawing his hand from the gaps between armor plates in the Autobot leader's chassis and sliding off the Prime's much larger frame. He backed off warily as the Prime regained his feet.

Climbing back to his pedes, Optimus looked at Prowl. He watched as Prowl lowered his gaze, doorwings trembling as he waited with mounting tension and the Prime suddenly realized Prowl's suspicion; the same suspicion he had sensed earlier in the smaller mech and understood that Prowl was waiting to be punished for what he had just done.

As Optimus reached his full height he turned fully to Prowl and saw the slight shudder that worked it's way down his frame. And yet the tactician maintained his submissive posture as he watched Optimus step toward him.

Optimus understood. Prowl's attack had been strictly demonstrative, to prove this sparring match was not a good idea, and yet he also expected to be punished for it – he expected to be punished for _following_ orders. This was not a reaction he had learned from his short time among the Autobots. But it did explain why he had attempted to warn Optimus off. If anyone was aware of his brother's vindictive nature, Optimus was.

Optimus stopped moving, raising his hands non-threateningly as he spoke gently. "I am not attempting to trap you, Prowl. I give you my word."

Prowl did not relax, though his bright crimson optics shifted slightly. And, despite his attempts to prevent it from happening, Optimus felt his spark ache for the Praxian as the missing pieces of the puzzle concerning the mech's behavior finally fell into focus. Prowl's time with the Decepticons had not only made him a mech Autobots would have trouble trusting, it also made Prowl reluctant if not downright fearful of trusting other mechs. All of the observations Optimus had made about Prowl to that point were suddenly illuminated in a slightly new manner.

Yes, this sparing match was exactly what Prowl needed, for more than one reason. Optimus watched Prowl twitch slightly as the Praxian watched him drop back into a defensive stance. When Optimus did not immediately attack, Prowl slowly relaxed into his own fighting posture. Optimus nodded once in encouragement and then both mechs were moving again, both committed to the sparring match now.

At first there was a desperation in the Praxian's movements, each strike and each block almost brimming with emotion as he unleashed his pent up anger, frustration and pure grief. His blows were swift, sharp and precise and, at least initially each round ended quickly with the tactician holding the Prime's life at his mercy.

And yet it stopped there. Prowl would hold that position of dominance just long enough for the Prime to acknowledge yet another loss and then he would back off. Each time he regained his pedes, Optimus would silently encourage Prowl to continue.

After a joor, the Prime noticed a change in Prowl's demeanor, a minor difference in how he carried himself. The underlying emotional pain underpinning every movement faded until it was once again his processors dictating his movements, not his emotional center.

Once that change occurred, Optimus found he could occasionally take the upper hand in the fight. It did not happen often, and the first time it did, Optimus would have sworn Prowl had intentionally left himself open almost as if hoping the Prime would take advantage of it. The tiny, almost imperceptible nod of approval Prowl gave him when Optimus was able to slam _him_ into the mat the first time was confirmation of that assumption.

Thus Optimus sensed that the sparring match ceased being an outlet of emotional tension for Prowl and became something that felt more like a method of evaluation and assessment.

This would be confirmed obliquely when the Prime would note that Prowl would occasionally use the same moves multiple times in succession until Optimus found a way to successfully counter them.

Sometimes Optimus could gain the upper hand, most of the time however, he could not. In some ways, it reminded Optimus of when he had trained under Terratron before the war and it said even more about Prowl than words possibly could.

… … …

It was nearly a joor and a half and they were still going strong, both mechs privately enjoying the contest. Prowl had just managed to pin the Prime to the ground again when the door to the training room burst open.

Faster than either the Prime or former Decepticon could respond, Ironhide and Jazz were upon them.

The two warriors were on Prowl faster than a sparkbeat, hauling him off of their leader and using their combined strength to throw him into the wall. Realizing instantly how it must have looked to them, all fight left the Praxian's frame before he even hit the ground. They were at his side once more and he allowed himself to be harshly slammed into the wall again.

Prowl did not resist the hands that held him braced against the unforgiving surface and then permitted himself to be forced to his knees, wincing as the armor plates protecting the joints buckled slightly with the force of his impact with the ground.

Each mech grabbed hold of one of his arms, using the leverage to effectively immobilize him. Prowl surrendered, allowing himself to be restrained without resistance even as Ratchet raced to the Prime's side. Accordingly he did not look directly at either of the two mechs holding him.

"When you answered Jazz's query with a location ping we _knew_ something was wrong." Ratchet knelt by his leader. "Are you damaged Optimus? Did he hurt you?"

Prowl lowered his gaze completely at hearing that, realizing it was no coincidence that they had been interrupted. They had been summoned and that could only mean one thing, Optimus' promise not withstanding, and resigned himself to the inevitable. Therefore, he did not see Optimus brush aside Ratchet's concern as he pushed himself back to his pedes.

"Ironhide, Jazz; stand down. Let him go." All motion in the training room froze momentarily at Optimus' calm, commanding tone.

Prowl went stiff, hardly believing his audios. Ironhide appeared to be having the same problem because his engine stuttered. "But, the little cretin…"

Optimus shook his helm, cutting the black mech off. "Prowl has done no wrong. Let him go."

Clearly unhappy but bound to obey orders, Ironhide slowly loosened his grip before finally releasing Prowl all together. Jazz was even slower to obey, but he too eventually backed off, though they both stood ready to intervene if necessary. Prowl, however, was staring at the Prime, surprised, despite everything, that he had not taken that perfect opportunity to punish him for so clearly defeating him, for humiliating him in front of his subordinates.

Megatron would never have allowed such a thing to go without making a painful example of the unfortunate mech who bested him.

Instead, the Prime stepped in front of him and offered a hand to help him back to his feet. He moved stiffly, aware the three other Autobots were absolutely still, staring at their Prime.

Seemingly unconcerned by they others' presence, if not even a touch amused, Optimus gestured Prowl to the center of the training mat and Prowl followed the silent order cautiously, the gazes of the three other Autobots boring into his back. Would he now be expected to allow the Prime to save face by loosing and allowing himself to get beaten? If so, he knew he could not defend himself.

To his great shock, once they were both again standing in the center of the floor, the Prime actually bowed to him. It was the partial, respectful bow all Circuit Su trainees were taught to give those who had mastered the art both before and following a training session. It was the last thing Prowl had expected, even if long ingrained habit had him returning the bow instantly.

Dimly he was aware that the other Autobots were no longer just staring; they were doing so with slack faceplates.

Straightening, Optimus smiled and Prowl almost trembled at the peace and steadiness that radiated from the Prime. "Thank you, Prowl. It is clear you are a master in Circuit Su."

Prowl nodded, regaining his composure quickly now that his processors were again clear of excess emotional buildup. "Yes, sir. It has been a long time since I have been able to spar. Your own training was extensive."

The Prime cocked an optic ridge good-naturedly at that. "Not extensive enough, apparently." Then his gaze became more thoughtful. "Perhaps you might one day be amenable to rectifying that situation."

Prowl's doorwings jerked upward in shock before he could control them and, briefly he felt a sharp pain stab into his processors, but it faded completely, lasting less than a sparkbeat. He dipped his helm. "It would be my honor, Prime."

Even as he said the words, Prowl realized he meant them. Optimus Prime was not just a formidable leader, or powerful fighter, but also a mech with a conscience and a strict moral code; an honorable individual who used the power of his office for the benefit of those beneath him rather than his own – as had been demonstrated rather dramatically just now. Optimus had, so far, proven to be an individual whom Prowl could trust. Someone who also trusted him, at least to some degree.

Optimus chuckled softly, clearly seeing the consternation on Prowl's face, as he extended a hand toward the Praxian. The room was deathly silent as the two mechs touched palms. Then the Prime pointed back to the three other Autobots who were staring at them with worried optics.

Together, Prowl and Optimus turned to face their audience of three.

… … …

It had taken over two joors after the Praxian had completed his analysis with Smokescreen for Jazz to realize exactly what had disconcerted him about Prowl when he had tracked him down to the training room. Yes, he knew the simulation had been a dojo. But that did not explain how… natural… Prowl had appeared on that dojo floor, how commanding his presence had suddenly been, even though he doubted the Praxian had been that way on purpose and probably had not even been aware of the transformation.

It was not until two joors after Prowl had left the command center, while his processors had idly fiddled with the puzzle pieces that represented Prowl, that things had suddenly fell into place for the saboteur. Prowl's amazing stoicism. His impressive skills with hand to hand combat. His willingness to let First Aid gain experience using himself. Prowl's impressive mental capabilities in that he had the mental discipline to defeat Soundwave. The fantastically strong firewalls. The almost indefinable change in Prowl's demeanor when Jazz had interrupted his meditations. The fact that he had seen nothing in any of his previous scans…

Filled with brimming alarm and frightening insight, Jazz realized he needed to notify the Prime. It was very possible that Prowl was far more of a threat to everyone on the base than they had initially assumed. In fact, it was very likely he was a more skilled fighter than half the command staff if not more.

He headed for the Prime's office – usually a sure bet when the Prime was on base and Elita-one was not; like now. But he was not there. With a frown, he sent a query to his leader, sending it on an urgent frequency.

The reply he got nearly made his energon lines freeze: a location ping, nothing more.

His startled "Slaggit!" attracted both Ironhide and Ratchet's attention and they wordlessly followed him as he bolted from the command center.

Then to make it to the training room to actually find Prowl with Optimus' spark at his mercy…

Now, Jazz watched his Prime and the former Decepticon tactician face each other on the mat in the simulated dojo. When the location ping he had received from Optimus put him in the same training room as Prowl, his spark had all but stalled in his chassis.

He had felt the increase in the Praxian's emotional tension during his tactical analysis and then had seen his steadily degrading control as he had left the tactical command center.

True Decepticons had no respect for anyone weaker than they, for anyone they could defeat in combat. Right now, the only thing that kept Prowl from being a very dangerous threat was his decision to see them as an allied faction. Likewise, it had not been difficult to notice that Prowl had held a strut deep respect for the Prime, even in their first, very brief meeting in the hanger when the Praxian had first come on base and was doubtless a main contributing factor to his current loyalty. A Decepticon would have lost that reverence after so clearly defeating the Prime.

But Jazz watched as Prowl bowed his helm respectfully and agreed to instruct the Prime further in the discipline of Circuit Su.

Having been in Prowl's mind he could tell the Praxian was truly taken aback by the request, that he was being absolutely truthful when he claimed it would be an honor. Whatever Prowl might be, he was truly no longer a _Decepticon_. Could he be trusted? Without being bound by his ethical programming? Jazz was not so quick to say. But he was _not_ a Decepticon.

No Decepticon with Prowl's skills would have surrendered and allowed himself to be manhandled as Prowl had just done…

He blinked back to the moment as Ratchet pushed himself forward to scan Optimus. The Prime attempted to brush the CMO off again, but Ratchet's engine revved, growling with a low threat and Optimus obligingly held still until he was finished.

Ironhide did not wait, taking advantage of the opportunity to rattle off how stupid it had been to confront such a highly skilled former Decepticon in private.

While the two larger mechs fussed over Optimus, Jazz kept his attention on the Praxian. Though his expression and posture were carefully neutral, it was clear he was watching the genuine, though casual interactions, with thinly veiled surprise.

"Friends, calm down." Optimus' serene, if somewhat exasperated command, redrew Jazz's attention, though not before he saw Prowl's optics widen slightly at the term of address. "It was nothing but a friendly sparring match. Neither of us are damaged."

"Calm down?" Ironhide demanded. "You close yourself into a training room with a Decepticon and let him attack you – sparring match or not – and you expect us to _calm down_? But…"

The Prime released a vent in a manner that made Ironhide cut off his vocalizer, silencing whatever else he might have said. "Precisely. It was the perfect opportunity for Prowl to take advantage and assassinate me if he had wished."

Even Jazz blinked at the almost blithe way Optimus then canted a look at the increasingly uneasy tactician. "How many opportunities to kill me did you pass up within the last joor, Prowl?"

Doorwings flicked as he suddenly became the center of attention, even though Jazz's processors snagged on the timeframe. They had been 'sparing' for a _joor_? Doorwings flinched again as Prowl answered. "At least twenty seven within the last joor alone, Prime. Likewise, you bypassed seven opportunities to kill me."

Jazz's vents stalled as that statement sank home the true disparity of the skill Prowl had had over their Prime as well as the understanding that they had been isolated together for _longer _than a joor. Most mechs only lasted for a joor at most when sparring and both were usually beat up enough afterward to give Ratchet an excuse to chew them up one side and down the other.

Neither Optimus nor Prowl had more than a few minor scratches and dents. It was a testament to skill and control. _Prowl's_ skill and control in this case apparently, at least for the most part.

"You were sparring for _longer_ than a joor?" Ironhide asked, static on the edges of his words as he too caught the larger implications.

Optimus actually chuckled at that, laying a hand briefly on the mech's broad, black shoulders. "Yes, old friend. And Prowl was winning handily most of that time."

Ironhide blinked, glancing at the mostly impassive Praxian before grumbling. "It was still a foolish risk."

"He said something like that as well." Optimus said gently.

Ironhide, Ratchet and Jazz could only stare at their leader as if he had customized an additional leg onto his frame even though Prowl's vents flared uncomfortably.

Suddenly Ratchet spun to face the tactician and Jazz watched Prowl stiffen as sensory energy flicked over him. The Praxian however was not brave enough to try and wave off the attention, or even move for that matter.

After a moment to analyze the results, Ratchet huffed. "Neither of you are badly injured. That doesn't mean he…"

"All three of you saw his ethical coding." Optimus interrupted his CMO gently but firmly. Jazz saw Prowl stiffen at the turn in the conversation as much as at the change in the Prime's tone but he gave no indication of protest; accepting. Neither was Jazz immune to his leader's now serious voice. "You have all seen it, and yet you refuse to see beyond the decal on his armor and the color of his optics."

"But we don't know how tightly bound he's by that codin'." Jazz spoke up suddenly, looking from his Prime to the former Decepticon. "He managed to hide _this_ from me. And it wasn't in Ratch's report either." He gestured around at the dojo by way of illustration.

"I have not hidden anything from you intentionally, Jazz." Prowl said softly into the thoughtful silence, drawing every mech's attention, though he looked only at Jazz. "My training in Circuit Su was completed many decavorns before the war began. It was a journey I began before I even joined Praxus' Enforcer Corps. When I lowered my firewalls for you I did so completely. You limited yourself to looking for intelligence on the Decepticons."

Jazz just stared for a moment then pointed at Ratchet. "What 'bout him?"

"Even he did not search that far back into my past. I did not intentionally conceal anything." Tactician and saboteur stared at each other, reading each other; evaluating.

"You doubt me." Prowl said at last, his voice soft but not bitter as Jazz might have expected.

"It's kinda hard not ta."

They stared at one another for a long moment, then Prowl nodded.

"I am sorry." Prowl seemed to consider carefully what he was about to say, continuing with measured words. "Would another scan put your worries at ease?"

"Ya _want_ me to just poke 'round wherever I please?" Jazz ignored the low warning rev of Optimus' engine.

Prowl shook his helm once. "No. But I am the one on probation here and the terms were very clear. I will not resist you should you deem another deep scan necessary to allay your suspicions."

For one terrible astrosecond Jazz wanted to do nothing else than to dig mercilessly into the other mech's mind and find everything he had missed the first time. His optics blazed behind his visor as his mind raced to figure out how best to go about it. Then he saw the way Prowl's optics flickered as he read his intentions and then the tactician carefully adopted a completely submissive posture and he instantly _knew _Prowl would do exactly as he had promised. The determination to prove himself that such a complete forfeiting of one's privacy would require shook the Saboteur to his core.

That made Jazz pause, one hand reaching for his cable, just long enough for Optimus to rest a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Jazz… we both know a Decepticon would not make such an offer. Perhaps it is time we cease to treat him as if he were one."

Jazz winced slightly at the disappointment he heard in those words but he could not honestly deny the gentle reprimand. Then the potential ramifications of those words hit him and his optics flared brightly behind his visor as he focused on Optimus. "Are ya suggestin' cuttin' his integration process short?"

Optimus shook his helm calmly, though he looked at Prowl when he answered. "No. The protocol exists for a reason and we will follow it."

Jazz might have been seeing things, but it looked as if the tense flare of Prowl's doorwings actually relaxed slightly. The Praxian offered a tiny nod in acknowledgement and clear welcome of the Prime's words, which Optimus returned before he looked at Jazz.

Then Optimus looked at each of them, "But if the _command_ staff isn't willing to allow the integration, then all the protocols on Cybertron will not make it happen. That means we must at least be willing to learn to trust him as he learns to trust us."

Silence claimed the training room, but none of the other Autobots could find it within themselves to contest their leader's admonition. Jazz glanced at the subject of their discussion to find that Prowl had lowered his gaze

If Jazz did not know better, he would have said that Prowl looked overwhelmed… or nearly so, at least.

In thinking about all that he had observed about the mech since his arrival, Jazz found he did not even want to contest the Prime's words. He was not sure if he was ready to truly trust Prowl, but he was ready to start trying to trust him.

Ratchet, however, did not seem so ready to concede. He crossed his arms over his chassis. "And just what, pray tell, did you learn about him just now?"

Instead of taking offense at the slightly insubordinate tone of his CMO, Optimus smiled. "That even frustrated and provoked into lashing out, he did not take a perfect opportunity to do more than cause a few dents and scrapes when my very spark was at his mercy… more than once."

Optimus turned to Prowl and the Praxian straightened subtly. "Prowl. Go; refuel and take some time with Bluestreak. You will be leaving on a long-term scouting mission in an orn."

To his credit, Prowl accepted the clearly unexpected dismissal with aplomb, bowing slightly. "Yes, sir."

The Praxian started to leave only to stop when Optimus called out to him again. "And Prowl…" Prowl looked back curiously then his optics widened as Optimus pulled five datapads out of his subspace and held them out. "Here. These are yours. While their contents have been scanned for useful intelligence, they are otherwise intact."

Prowl slowly accepted the proffered tablets, as if not entirely sure what to think. He had not been expecting to have any of his seized possessions returned, that much was painfully clear. Briefly it made Jazz wonder if that fact said more about the Decepticons or their own behavior toward Prowl.

"Thank you, Prime." Prowl's words were almost a whisper.

Optimus' face morphed slightly into an understanding and friendly smirk. "This is actually why I was looking for you originally, but I think the exercise was beneficial… for both of us."

Prowl's demeanor shifted slightly as he lifted his gaze to the Prime's. Then, to Jazz's great surprise, an answering smirk briefly tipped Prowl's lip plates. "Indeed, sir."

_Wow, I wasn't sure I'd get this one out as scheduled. I had a hard time getting Optimus just right here and it was frustrating… heck, I'm still not sure I succeeded. But I got tired of reworking and reworking and decided it was close enough. Better to move on and perhaps fine tune it someday when I have a little bit of distance from it and can see it in a clearer light. _

_Also, many thanks to __**Albion North**__ for inspiration concerning Jazz's perspective here. I had not intended to include Jazz's insights and thoughts at this juncture. However, after a wonderfully thought provoking review and ensuing conversation, I realized it was needed._

_Was this what anyone was expecting? Any guesses abut his next patrol? (Don't worry, we will return to the whole 'possible traitor' thing later on, but Prowl was heading for an emotional breakdown and that had to be dealt with first.). Please share you thoughts!_


	15. Subterfuge

_Many thanks to everyone who reviewed last chapter! You guys are awesome. Twenty reviews is the greatest number for any single chapter I have posted and I am grateful to everyone. :)_

* * *

Early the next orn Jazz sat in the seldom-used chair behind his desk, the clawed fingers of one hand drumming restlessly on the metal surface as he stared intently at the screen recessed into the desk's top. On that screen he watched, for the third time, the Prime's recent sparring match with Prowl.

Optimus had stated the situation accurately. Prowl had been winning handedly most of the time. He would have had to be blind not to see the raw emotion brimming behind Prowl's fighting: the anger, frustration and pain. The mech's sheer intensity had been frightening to watch, even knowing it was only a recording of something that had taken place many joors ago.

By all rights, any mech with his history and skill who was _that _distraught should not have had the control to avoid harming Optimus. True, that ethical coding prevented him from _intentionally_ killing any Autobot, but no programming codes could prevent accidents.

Only well honed skill, absolute control and a deeply ingrained desire _not_ to harm Optimus could have prevented him from doing so.

And, seeing as Optimus had _not_ come to any harm; that must have been the case.

With a flick of his finger he paused the display and the scene happened to freeze on the exact moment Prowl had first hit the training room wall when he and Ironhide had interrupted them. He had not thought about it much at the time, but Jazz knew there was no way he and Ironhide would have been able to do that if Prowl had not let them. He had not fought them. At all.

Just as he had not fought Jazz during any of the processor scans he had performed. Just as he had not fought Hardstrike when the mech had held a blaster under Prowl's chin. Just as he had not resisted Ratchet even when he expected to have his exoframe forcibly removed.

Optimus was convinced Prowl was not a threat. He would not have allowed himself to stay in such a dangerous situation if he had, Jazz was…well, _almost_ completely sure of that. And, as difficult as it was for him to admit it, Jazz had to concede it was appearing as if Prowl – as dangerous as the mech might be – was not actually a threat.

With a final, decisive drum of his fingers, he toggled the view to that of the monitoring devices inside Prowl's quarters. At the moment he was sitting with Bluestreak at his desk going over the educational material Chromia had provided. Very mundane, very much what a responsible and devoted caretaker would do.

Interestingly, even though he had been granted limited run of the base, Prowl preferred either his quarters or the training rooms. He would visit the rec room only as necessary to refuel himself and Bluestreak, the wash racks to see to his and Bluestreak's needs and to the observatory deck from time to time. It was clear Prowl did not like casual interactions with the rest of the mechs on the base unless necessary. Jazz half suspected that most of the time Prowl left his quarters only for the express purposes of getting Bluestreak out, not because he himself wished to be in public.

Considering the report he had read from Inferno about the last time Prowl had visited the rec room during a high volume shift change, Jazz could not blame the former Decepticon for his avoidance of crowds.

And that only served to drive home Optimus' admonition that if the Autobots' senior commanders were not willing to give Prowl an honest chance, there was no way the rank and file would either.

Jazz flicked the screen off entirely and then, after a moment's thought, activated his communications system.

_/Hound, it's Jazz. Come see me in my office, mech. I got an assignment for ya./_

Hound was only a sparkbeat in responding. _/Yes, sir. On my way./_

Three breems later, the entry request sounded and Jazz remotely opened the door. Moments later Hound entered. He drew himself up in front of Jazz. "Reporting as ordered."

Jazz waved the larger, olive green mech into a chair. "Thank ya for coming Hound. There is a scoutin' mission I need your particular talents for, if ya're interested."

Hound frowned slightly. "Of course I am. You know that."

Jazz allowed a tiny half-smile and a nod. "That's why I asked ya. This one's a bit different though."

"Oh? In what way?" Hound leaned forward, curious and openly intrigued. "Where do you need me to go?"

Jazz tapped his fingers on the desk a couple of times causing the scout's optics to flick briefly to his hand. "It isn't where, it is _who_."

Hound frowned again. "I don't understand."

At that Jazz smiled once more. "Let me tell ya a little about who your teammate is gonna be…"

… … …

Prowl reported to the briefing room Jazz had directed him to only to find none other than the saboteur and Hound waiting for him. Both scout and spy turned to face the door when he stepped across the threshold.

Prowl froze midstep, taking in the clearly wary and uneasy expression on Hound's faceplate then looked at Jazz for an explanation.

Jazz only smiled. "You ready for your patrol assignment, Prowl?"

Prowl blinked at the almost friendly inquiry, sensing the smaller mech's demeanor held a touch of greater sincerity than it had before. He nodded. "I am."

Jazz gestured to Hound. "I believe you two know each other?"

Hound's unhappy expression did not change as he nodded briefly. "Yes."

Prowl just managed to prevent his doorwings from twitching at the tenor of the scout's reply and he nodded as well.

Jazz glanced at Hound until the olive green mech looked at him and then nodded in a manner that was almost encouraging. Then the silver minibot included Prowl with his next statement. "Very good. Hound will brief you and then you are to leave within the joor. Central Supply is waiting for you. As is Medical."

Hound frowned, tearing his gaze away from Prowl to look at Jazz again. "Medical?"

"To release his weapons." Jazz pointed at Prowl, then smiled. "Have fun, you two." Then the silver saboteur did rather graceful pirouette and glided from the briefing room, leaving Prowl and Hound alone.

Once the doors closed over Jazz's shiny tailpipe, Prowl and Hound looked back at each other. They considered each other in silence for a long moment, neither one knowing exactly what to do next. Then Hound cleared his vents and turned slightly to face Prowl more directly.

"You are a high ranking member on the Decepticon command chain." It was half question, half observation.

Prowl's doorwings twitched fractionally. "I _was_, yes. But no more."

Hound's armor flared slightly in challenge. "And you will accept my command of this mission? You will follow my orders?"

Frowning slightly, Prowl answered immediately. "I did before."

It was apparently the wrong thing to say, Hound's engine revved. "I remember that you questioned every statement or decision I made and that you went off and did your own thing."

Prowl considered his newly assigned mission commander, processing again his memories of that first patrol. Of course, Hound had no particular reason to trust him. Last time they had been in each other's company, Hound had not been sure whether or not he was a potential Decepticon plant. Hound had been the one to initially decide his tactical evaluation was not welcome.

With a resigned release of air through his vents, Prowl spoke softly. "Are you ordering me to keep my thoughts to myself, regardless of any extenuating circumstances?"

Hound blinked, then frowned again. "I'm _asking_ you to respect when I've made a decision." He paused for a sparkbeat. "I've been… _encouraged_… to take seriously any recommendations or observations you make. I'll do so because I trust Jazz, but _I'm_ still in command."

Still meeting those probing blue optics, Prowl nodded, stepping back slightly, showing by body language he was yielding to Hound's position. It was the same thing he had done the last time Hound had wanted to ensure Prowl respected his Authority.

Prowl dipped his helm. "You are in command."

Hound continued to study him for a long moment, then released a vent of air. "Transmitting mission data…"

… … …

Part of the mission data Hound had transmitted to Prowl was that this was intended to be a three-decaorn mission. They were to scout the western perimeter between Iacon territory and the Centari Tetrax region. It was far enough away that it took nearly five orns just to reach their assigned zone. Five orns in which they traveled mostly in silence, though occasionally Hound would make an attempt at uneasy conversation. Unfortunately, the one time Prowl endeavored to ask his own question, as to how Hound became a scout, he was met by a suspicious retort.

After that, Prowl was very careful in asking questions and very judicious about what information he shared about himself. It might not be the best way to gain trust, but it was also rather dangerous to offer too much about himself for the very same reason that Hound was not being open either.

True to his word, Hound at least considered Prowl's suggestions when it came to things like course corrections, approaches, possible threats and the like. That was not to say he always followed those suggestions, but he at least listened and seemed to take them seriously.

Likewise, Prowl was true to his word and followed orders, not even commenting when his recommendations were rejected and not boasting when they were accepted. Not that he was naturally inclined to do so, though Hound seemed surprised by it nonetheless.

It was not a comfortable partnership, but it was workable. Thankfully none of the situations they had encountered so far were critical.

That changed on the thirteenth orn into their mission.

A sensor blip on the very edge of his range caught Prowl's attention because it deviated significantly from the data he had been given on the area. Silently he alerted Hound.

Hound paused and transformed into his base mode. A moment later, Prowl did the same, straining to gather more information.

Hound adopted a look of concentration and then frowned. "I'm not detecting anything." Then he canted a look at Prowl. "But then you _do _have those doorwings. Let's proceed cautiously."

Prowl nodded. "Understood."

As they approached a deep basin in the natural metal landscape, they found the anomaly was a Decepticon camp, the structures clearly temporary and only the minimum necessary to protect the mechs stationed there. That was not to say it was not relatively large, at least a division, only that it was not a permanent construction.

_/This is the third Decepticon incursion into Iacon territory within the last vorn./_ Hound transmitted to Prowl almost absently as the olive-green scout carefully surveyed the enemy camp located at the far end of a naturally occurring clearing. _/Slag. We have to get this intel back to base./_

Prowl nodded in agreement, then pointed to a metal outcropping closer to the camp. _/I believe we might be able to get close enough in that location to be able to pick up some of the comm. traffic in and out of the base. It is possible they have not changed their encryption codes since my capture. If we can do so, it would give us a better idea what their mission is./_

Hound looked at him appraisingly for a long moment. _/I'll go. That vantage point is too close to their camp. I'm not risking you thinking to go back to them./_

Prowl frowned. _/I am not returning to the Decepticons. While that location will put you close enough to intercept their stronger communications signals, it will also blind you to any possible enemy attack. My doorwings make such a task safer for me…/_

_/That is why you will stay here to be my lookout./_ Hound's engine revved.

_/All I will be able to do is warn you, you will be too far away for my weapons to aid you and if I move from here I will not be able to see well enough to give you sufficient warning./_ Prowl tried again. _/It is less likely that I would trip sensor alarms either, because my signal is still that of a Decepticon…/_

Hound's armor flared, his engine revving again, silencing him. _/You will stay here and act as look out. __**That**__ is my decision./_

Prowl sucked in a draft of air, realizing he had pushed to hard and that instead of swaying Hound, it had only served to reinforce his determination. He dipped his helm, averting his gaze slightly. _/Yes, sir./_

Hound continued to glare at him then abruptly transformed into his alt mode. Prowl did not let his posture relax until the Autobot was gone. With a tiny shake of his helm, the only outward expression he allowed of his misgivings even in complete isolation, Prowl took up the position that would best allow him to serve as a lookout for his mission commander.

Below him, Hound made good time in reaching the relative shelter of the natural metal outcropping. He watched the mech transform into base mode and reach up to fiddle with his external communications array. Mindful of the highly dangerous position they were both in, Prowl cast his own sensors as wide as he possibly could, so as to better detect approaching threats as early as possible.

Fifteen breems into their stakeout, Prowl's sensors gave him an alert and he focused on it only long enough to feel dread suddenly explode in his tanks. He quickly did the calculations based on current speed, trajectory, altitude and known scanning range of the approaching hostiles and signaled Hound.

_/Decepticon seekers on approach bearing 557.43; closing quickly. They will be within sensor range in less than one breem./_ Prowl cast a look the direction the seekers were coming from even though he could not see them yet, then returned it to Hound. _/If they are approaching this camp, they will descend low enough to spot us, if not, it is remotely possible they will not detect our presence./_

_/Slag!/ _Hound spit back over the comm. and Prowl saw him turn to look that direction as well. _/You are just telling me this now?/_

_/I have only just detected them. They are moving very quickly./_ Prowl paused, his spark twisting in its casing. _/You have no cover from aerial surveillance./_

_/Yeah. Tell me something I don't know./_ Far below him, Hound looked down, then glanced around. _/Fine./ _

He transformed and backed his alt mode up against the metal outcropping that was shielding him from the base. Prowl's sensitive doorwings were more clearly able to detect the sound of seeker engines as suddenly, Hound's form wavered and in his place the metal outcropping abruptly took on another few angles.

It took Prowl a moment to realize what had happened. Hound had camouflaged himself using a holographic emitter. Impressive, truly impressive and Prowl allowed himself an astrosecond to appreciate that particular skill. He briefly wondered why he had not been previously aware of that ability, but then brushed that aside, he was still suspected of being an enemy. Of course, Hound would not want to risk putting himself at a disadvantage in his presence.

It was an effective cover too, except for one minor detail. _/Hound, I am still reading your spark signature and your faction ID./_

_/Shut up!/_ Hound hissed back. _/Unless you want them to pick up our comm. chatter too./_

Hound was right. Prowl had been off the front lines for so long, he had grown rusty on such basic field principles and he berated himself for making such a novice mistake. Hound would know the limitations of his own abilities, it was arrogant to think a trained and respected scout needed Prowl to tell him. Accepting the rebuke, Prowl moved as stealthily as possible. He backed himself under the overhang of the natural metal projection he had been using to conceal his own position.

As the sound of seeker engines grew louder, Prowl was reminded of that first, horrible moment in Praxus when the missiles first started to eat away the city. A shiver raced down his frame before he could control it but then he forced the memory away, knowing that if he did not focus on the moment it could be his last.

To his horror, the seekers did slow as they approached, their altitude dropping so quickly it left no doubt they had been headed to the camp to begin with. The air moving through Prowl's vents started to flow easier as it looked like they were making their final approach to the base itself. Then they deviated. Their angle of descent flattened and they began a slow, almost lazy circle of the base instead, the sudden energy in the air indicating they were directing their rather powerful sensors toward the ground below them.

Prowl's hands curled into fists as he watched them slow as they approached Hound's location. There was nothing he could do. Even were he close enough to even get a targeting lock on them, he was no match for three seekers. One _perhaps_, but not three, and only if he found a way to disable their flight ability.

Prowl would still appear on their scanners as a Decepticon. The seekers would not bother with him, they wouldn't care what a ground-bound Decepticon was doing. But Hound's Autobot signal would be like a bright beacon on their scanners. Prowl knew all of that, but it did not stop him from cussing silently as one of the seekers dropped all the way to the ground, his trine-mates hovering just above him in a loose triangle around Hound's position. Hastily, Prowl tasked his battle and tactical computers with finding out how to rescue Hound, if it were even possible.

With his scanners stretched to the maximum, Prowl could just hear the landed seeker's whiny cackle. "Oooh, what do we have here? A spy?"

To his credit, Hound did not move, the hologram never wavering.

"Stupid Autoscum." One of the other seekers jeered. "That puny attempt to hide would do better if your faction ID wasn't broadcasting your worthless existence."

"Agh." The first one spit. "I don't want to waste my time. Enough of the games."

Prowl watched, his vents hitching as the seeker raised his arm, its components shifting around to form a plasma cannon, which he fired several times into the holographic illusion. On the second shot, the hologram wavered and then flicked off. Prowl watched helplessly as Hound transformed back into base bode only to fall to one knee, clutching at his other leg where bright blue energon was oozing from between his fingers.

The landed Seeker laughed. "Get him back to base. We'll let the other ground-pounders deal with this piece of filth."

"Why don't we just kill 'im now?" The third one demanded. "Put 'im outta his misery like the animal he is?"

The first one, obviously the trine's leader growled at his wing mate. "You idiot. If he's way out here he must have known to come looking. They need to find out just how much he knows. Then they'll kill him."

"Oh. Right." The indicated mech made a shrugging gesture and then, so quickly Prowl could not follow exactly what happened, the leader stepped forward. He was airborn again in the same smooth movement, Hound gripped tightly in his hands.

Prowl watched in mounting helpless frustration as the four figures quickly disappeared within the Decepticon camp. He slowly pushed himself away from the outcropping that had protected him, staring in the direction Hound had been taken, his processor spinning.

Through it all, Hound had not said a single thing. He had not broken cover in response to their insults. He had not even screamed in pain. Nor had be even attempted to contact Prowl, maintaining the strict radio silence he had reminded Prowl to observe. It was the only way to help protect Prowl and whether it was done for that purpose alone or because the scout had known that his only hope of rescue was if Prowl was not also taken captive, Prowl could not help but respect the strength and self-control those acts had required.

And he would rescue Hound. Prowl knew that. He knew what Decepticons did to their prisoners and no one deserved that, especially a mech whom his processors considered an ally. He did not even need his revamped ethical programming to make that decision.

He would rescue Hound and, barring that, he would at least retrieve his empty frame. Or he would himself die in the attempt. While he might not normally take it to that extent, he knew that if he were to return to Iacon empty handed, it would be better for him to not return at all.

First Aid's soft but emotion-laden words, whispered to him while the young medic was unlocking his systems, echoed again in Prowl's processor. _"Hound is good at what he does, and he is liked and respected by a lot of mechs here. You better hope he makes it back whole."_

Whether or not the junior medic was speaking a threat for himself or as a warning to Prowl it did not matter, though Prowl had a hard time imagining it was a threat. Either way, Prowl felt some of the tension in his processors ease as his tactical computer finally presented him with the most likely plan that would let him rescue Hound and a number of variations based on different scenarios.

It was risky, and held far too many possible complications, but it was the best he had. As far as rescue missions went, it would be Prowl's first and he hoped he could carry it out.

Unfortunately it depended entirely on not just the Decepticons believing him, but on Hound trusting him as well.

… … …

Prowl waited for another joor, hating himself the whole time but knowing it was necessary for his ruse to work, and then made his way toward the main entrance to the Decepticon camp, moving with casual deliberateness and not the frantic pace he would have preferred to use. The journey took yet another joor.

Hound had been in captivity for two joors. Prowl hoped it had not been too long already.

He drove confidently to the gate as if he expected it to open for him without hesitation. When he was confronted by the guard, he transformed, lifting his chin imperiously.

"I am here to interrogate the Autobot scum." He sneered at the two mechs blocking his path. "Move aside."

One of the guards growled low and threatening. "Yeah? And what are your authorization codes?"

Prowl's optics narrowed slightly and then he moved. Faster than the guard knew what had happened Prowl had the mech who had questioned him pinned against the ground, an energon dagger pressed against a vital energon feed to his processor.

"_This_ is my authorization." He let his own engine growl angrily. "Any more questions?"

The other guard shifted nervously. "Oh, no, no. Um… Come this way, sir."

Prowl allowed himself to smirk as he pushed the unfortunate guard into the ground again for emphasis before standing. Keeping in character he gave the now trembling heap of metal a swift kick for good measure and then followed after the second guard.

Thank Primus for dumb recruits. Though that in itself was a valuable piece of intelligence in that it was standard Decepticon policy to station the more imbecile of their ranks to remote, rather peripheral and unimportant outposts.

Prowl followed the guard, letting his doorwings record as much information about the interior of the camp as possible without making it obvious he was doing so. They entered the detention area and it was almost just as open as the rest of the camp. Not only was it not sound proofed, it was open and visible to anyone who happened to be close enough to see it. The walls of the cell Hound was being held in were little more than a cage, with Hound bound to a stool in its center much like Prowl had initially been bound in Iacon's detention area.

"Do you not have a sound-proofed interrogation room?" Prowl asked as they came to a stop outside the cell.

Inside, Hound was staring at him with wide optics, though the scout remained silent. Prowl could only assume what was going through the other mech's processors.

"Nope." The guard negligently flicked the bars, then straightened nervously, glancing at Prowl. "I mean, no sir. This is it."

_Slag_. Very well, move on to plan 2.2B.

He forced himself to shrug as if it were no big deal and moved to the cell door. "Enjoy the show then."

The look on Hound's faceplate morphed into hurt tinged with horror: betrayal. Prowl forced himself to ignore the look, glancing back at the guard. "Though we may have to move him to a more appropriate setting before I am done."

"What setting… um, sir?" The guard asked, his near glee in what was about to come clear.

"The med bay." Prowl said tonelessly and stepped into the doorway.

"Why?" The guard demanded. "He's just a lowly scout. Surely he don't know anything tha…"

Prowl snapped his gaze back to the guard, grinding his words between clenched denta. "You know nothing. Back to your duties!"

The guard squeaked but hastily retreated, though not without a backward, almost longing look at Hound.

Releasing his heated intake through his vents Prowl turned back to the rather delicate task that lay ahead of him. He looked at Hound and stepped toward the Autobot.

Knowing he had not only listeners, but that his every move could be seen by the small audience that was even now forming, he sneered, filling his voice with disgust he did not feel. "So, Autobot, it appears that we will get to have quality time together after all."

Hound did not reply, but his expression slowly morphed from shocked disbelief to anger. Prowl slowly circled Hound and reached forward to furtively, if crudely, reconnect the wires controlling his short-range internal comm. As painful as it had to be for Hound, Prowl was glad the metal covering those circuits had been pried away; it was the only thing that made it possible for him to restore the systems. Once that was done he set to hacking the controls of the magnetic locks holding the scout to the stool. Until that was done, they weren't going anywhere.

Unfortunately, it meant he had to keep up the act until he could hack the signal.

Continuing his menacing circle he sent Hound a tight transmission. _/Don't speak. Continue to act defiant. How badly injured are you?/_

Hound blinked, then his optics narrowed, the anger in his gaze blazing hotly. "What do you care, 'Con?" The words were spit.

_Slag_. Hound was not trusting him. It did not matter, he would do what he needed to regardless.

He paced around again, sneering. "Oh, I care because I have been waiting a long time for this." Simultaneously he transmitted. _/They believe I am here to interrogate you. Ignore my spoken words; they are for their audios only. How badly injured are you?/_

Hound blinked again, then he growled. "Go suck slag!" Likewise he also transmitted a tight comm. to Prowl. _/What do you think you are doing?/_

_/Getting you out./_ Prowl grinned evilly. _/I have called for back up, but first we have to give them a good show. Are you able to transform?/ _"Ooh, this is going to be fun. What are the codes for Iacon base?"

_/I can./_ Hound confirmed slowly, suspicion clear in his voice though nothing was betrayed outwardly. _/They severed some tension wires, but as a scout I have several redundancies for those systems./_

"This is your last chance, Autoscum. What are the codes?" Prowl leaned forward, reaching for Hound's throat. _/Do you trust me?/_

_/No. But I don't really have much of a choice, do I?/_ Hound asked, though on the outside he sneered. "Go to pit, 'Con."

_/Not really…/ _Prowl paused, truly regretting what he was about to do. His ethical program rebelled and only permitted the actions because it was the only way to save Hound's life. _/I am sorry. I give you my word, I will submit to whatever disciplinary measures you deem appropriate for what I am about to do./_

Prowl saw Hound's optics widen slightly as realization struck, but did not give him any more warning before he forced a snarl onto his own faceplate and back-handed Hound. The blow was strong enough to cause substantial cosmetic damage, but nothing actually debilitating.

Truly disliking himself for doing so, Prowl punched Hound, this time in the abdominal plating. Air gusted out of the olive green mech's vents, but again, the damage was superficial even if the results looked much more serious.

Prowl delivered several more blows before he was satisfied that Hound looked damaged enough to make the next part of his plan possible. He only hoped Hound would be willing to cooperate.

_/I need you to make it sound like I'm ripping your arm off this time. I promise, this is the last./_ He could not tell if Hound believed him, but the Autobot did let out a static laced scream the next time Prowl hit him.

Prowl drew back then, circling Hound, pulling out his energon dagger and surreptitiously slicing most of the way through the stasis cuffs binding Hound. It was not enough that they fell to the ground, but it did short the power supply and made it possible for Hound to get loose. Likewise, he finally managed to override the magnetic lock, releasing Hound.

He put a hand briefly on Hound's shoulder. _/Wait for the opportune moment. Act like you are barely online./_ "Guards!"

As he waited for the dimwitted Decepticons to come running, he databurst Hound all the information he had managed to glean about the base's layout and personnel. Then he circled back around to stand by the cell door.

"Get this piece of filth to whatever passes for a medical bay in this dump. I want him patched up enough he won't offline prematurely. I am not done with him yet."

Hound shifted as the Decepticons entered the cell. _/Wait for it./_ Prowl sent him urgently as he moved even closer to the cell door, positioning himself closer to the mech who was just standing there watching Hound with disgusting attentiveness

Hound's engine revved but he otherwise continued to expertly play the roll of severely damaged prisoner even as he was surrounded by the four Decepticons from their audience who had answered Prowl's call.

_/Now!/ _

Prowl moved at the exact same time Hound did, felling two of the Decepticons before they even knew anything was happening. Then he reached through the bars, grabbing the one mech who was standing there watching by the collar strut and yanking him faceplate first into the metal bars that separated them. Energon spilled from the crushed plating, dripping onto Prowl's arm. Another forced face-plant into the metal and red optics winked out.

Prowl then turned his attention to one of the mechs Hound had managed to put on the ground as the dusty orange mech was struggling back onto his knees. A quick stab with the energon blade and he was down again. Permanently.

Prowl straightened, turning to see Hound approaching with malice in every line of his frame.

Prowl subspaced his dagger and dipped his doorwings slightly, respectfully, speaking softly. "Might I suggest waiting until we are out of the Decepticon camp, sir?"

Hound growled darkly, but he did pause. "I suggest you get us out _quickly._"

Prowl nodded, then moved swiftly to Hound's side as the Autobot wavered slightly. He was roughly pushed away when he reached out to steady him. He let his doorwings dip slightly and, seeing Hound had regained his balance, led him out of the cell. Thankfully it was the night shift – meaning they had already taken out the majority of the mechs actually online – and the detention area was located relatively close to the camp perimeter and was more or less isolated. The fact that no more Decepticons came running indicated they had managed to take their opponents out before an alarm could be raised.

They slipped out of the camp relatively easy, with Prowl only having to take out one sentry. Once far enough away that their engines would not disturb the recharging camp, they both transformed and raced into the silent landscape as quickly as Hound was able.

They had to travel as far away from the camp as possible, in the most direct line available, and _then_ loop around in a wide arc that would take them toward Iacon without bringing them back too close to the enemy camp. Once they were angled back toward Iacon two joors had passed. Prowl continued to lead their retreat until they were far enough away that he considered the risk of pursuit finding them to be low enough to hazard stopping.

He slowed, sweeping the area again with his sensors, and then pulled into a relatively secluded area where someone would have to be actively looking for them in order to find them. It offered a touch of privacy if not actual safety.

Hound had maintained an angry, brooding silence since they had left the camp and Prowl knew that now that they were in a safe enough location, it was his turn to keep to the promise he had given Hound.

Resigning himself to whatever was going to happen, Prowl transformed and turned his body slightly to face Hound. He kept his posture submissive; holding to his word to accept whatever discipline Hound chose to mete out.

Hound transformed as well, limping slightly as severed tension wires and the original damage to his leg combined with the wear and tear caused by their hasty retreat, weakening him. Even so, he stalked toward Prowl, the anger that had been frothing under the surface, finally reaching the boiling point.

Prowl waited silently, his gaze slightly lowered dutifully and focused on a neutral point on the ground some distance away, as Hound laboriously closed the distance between them.

He grunted but did not move when Hound landed a punch across his faceplate that shattered his olfactory sensor. Even as energon began streaming down his face, Prowl did not move. He did not attempt to avoid the natural follow-through from that strike which was an armored elbow banging into his jaw with enough force to crack the hinge.

Prowl staggered slightly under the strength of that last blow hissing as the damage sent white-hot pokers through his sensory grid. But other than regaining his balance he did not move. He had suffered numerous such disciplinary assaults under Megatron's command – none of which had been for such serious offenses and knew more was coming. Attempting to avoid it would only make it worse.

He waited for the next strike, knowing that as he had attacked a commanding officer that Hound was well within his rights to do whatever he wanted for that infraction. And Prowl was now constrained by programming, duty and honor not to resist.

Hound lifted his hand to strike again, but the instability cause by his injuries made him waver, his damaged leg buckling. Without hesitating, Prowl shot out his arm to catch the scout before he could fall. As before, Hound pushed away from him roughly. But when all Prowl did was release his grip, returning to his open, submissive stance, Hound paused. Blue optics glanced from Prowl to the place on his armor the tactician had grabbed to prevent him from crashing to the ground.

When Hound's engine revved deeply again, Prowl quickly averted his gaze, waiting for the scout to continue.

To Prowl's surprise, Hound backed off, his cerulean optics flicking over Prowl's frame. The Praxian could tell that the scout's anger had not truly abated and surprise over the other mech's lack of continued aggression caused him to look at Hound again, this time in silent question.

"_That_ was for the faceplate." Hound growled at him.

Prowl lowered his gaze slightly. "My apologies, Hound. If I could have thought of a better way, I would have."

Hound shook his head, armor flaring, but he stepped backward again. "You did get me out, I guess that should count for something. Besides, as much as I want to beat the slag out of you, there are regulations that cover issues like this."

Prowl confirmed that, quietly stating. "There are, and as the field commander, they give you the authority to deal with such a situation as you see fit."

Hound's optics hardened and he opened his mouth as if to speak, then changed his mind. With another rev of his engine he stepped toward Prowl again, challengingly though there was an odd lilt to the mech's words. "You _are_ coming back with me. The Prime will deal with this"

"I will come willingly." Prowl assured him quickly, though he was increasingly uncomfortable with the look in the other mech's optics. "I…"

"Shut up!" Hound barked. "I don't want to hear your voice right now."

Prowl saw the tiny shudder work through Hound's frame and realized the scout was more traumatized by his capture and what Prowl had done than he had expected. A brief troll of his memory banks confirmed that, at least to his knowledge, Hound had never been captured before. He also remembered clearly the look of betrayal when Hound had first seen him outside his cell and that only helped feed the growing sense of guilt his ethical programming was plaguing him with for having assaulted the other mech. Even if it had been for a good cause. Even if it was the best available choice. Even if it was the _only_ available choice.

It was illogical, but that did not stop the conflict from existing or the processor ache that conflict caused. With a resigned sigh of air through his systems, Prowl acknowledged Hound's order with a deferential nod.

Hound considered him for a long moment and then ordered him to move out, pointing in clear indication he expected Prowl to take point again.

Prowl acknowledged the order silently and folded himself into his alt mode. Once Hound had done likewise he led them back through the maze of metal outcroppings and twisted paths until they could reach a main thoroughfare into Iacon.

Hound had let him off lightly. Prowl knew that. The regulations gave mission commanders a great deal of leeway in dealing with soldiers who dared attack their superiors, mitigating circumstances or not. And he was not even an Autobot soldier. Hound could have chosen to overlook the situation entirely… or he could have decided to extinguish his spark. Or anything in between. Such was the discretion left to field commanders.

He had expected worse than what he had gotten. But Hound had decided to defer judgment in this case to the Autobot central command. That introduced a whole new set of variables to the equation, some of which Prowl was not able to predict.

Would the Prime see any justification for his actions in the context of the situation? Or would Optimus decide he had gone too far and had betrayed the minuscule amount of trust he had been given? His spark wanted to hope, to believe the best. But he had nothing to base such hope on besides one sparring match, and that had been a match the Prime had initiated. He doubted such magnanimity would carry over in this situation. At least not until they got all the facts, until they saw the variables and the hundreds of calculations he had made to determine the best course of action.

His spark wanted to trust that the Prime would seek justice, not just punishment. That trust had not been in vain yet, perhaps it was still safe to rest in it.

He had to hope, at the very least, that they would do a processor scan before assigning him a permanent punishment.

If not, or until then, he accepted the reality that he had probably earned himself a reversion to full POW status, minus the parole. He would only know for sure once they were back within the safe confines of Iacon base.

* * *

_I know, this chapter is a little shorter than many of the others, but it was either chop it here or end up with one that was so unwieldy long I wouldn't be able to edit it in a timely or efficient manner. Actually, it isn't that short... it's just over 7,000 words! It just seems short to me I guess, don't know why... Not that you guys aren't used to little cliffhangers with this story, right? *Evil, maniacal cackle* :) _

_As always, please leave a review._


	16. Understanding

It was three orns before Hound even acknowledged Prowl's existence other than to give orders. Prowl did not push the issue, willing to give the other mech as much time as he needed. By the end of the first orn, Hound allowed Prowl to do some basic field repairs to his leg, but that was it. He was not allowed anywhere near Hound's communications or control systems meaning the scout remained without communications other than short distance internal comms and also without weapons. It was commentary on Hound's distrust that he preferred to be unarmed rather than allow Prowl access to those systems, and that told Prowl clearer than words could where he stood.

When Hound finally did break the silence that had almost solidified between them, it was sudden and almost completely unexpected. "I don't know exactly what the procedure will be when we get back. Nothing like this has ever happened. At least not to me."

If Prowl had been in his base mode he would have nodded, instead he transmitted the equivalent of the gesture. "Whatever transpires, I will not resist."

"You won't?" There was open skepticism in Hound's tone.

"I will not." Prowl assured. "Whatever happens, the fact remains that you are safe. Anything else is immaterial."

Hound huffed after a long moment of silent consideration. "Well, for what it is worth, I promise that I will be absolutely truthful in my report regarding what happened."

Prowl thought about that for a long moment. _Did_ he believe that Hound's promise was worth anything? Conversely, for what reason did Hound have to believe him? And yet he had cooperated back in the Decepticon interrogation cell. He continued to let Prowl lead them back to Iacon, though Prowl felt that was a defensive move as well.

Still, it was evidence that even though Hound was angry at him, he had not completely lost the trust the scout had decided to give him. Perhaps, just perhaps, a little trust received merited a little trust given.

He answered softly. "I appreciate that, Hound."

"Doesn't mean it'll make a difference." Hound warned, sounding as if he was disconcerted by Prowl's expression of gratitude. As if he had expected a different reaction.

"I promised to submit to disciplinary measures." Prowl reminded him quietly, reminding himself that, until notified otherwise, he was probably going to be seen as having violated his parole. "I struck a commanding officer. I know there will be ramifications."

Hound's only reply was a noncommittal huff of air.

And that was the extent of their voluntary communications until they reached the gates of Iacon two orns later.

… … …

They slowed to a halt outside Iacon's main entrance and then transformed. Hound staggered slightly, but not nearly as much as he would have had Prowl not patched his leg. Prowl stood silently as Hound gave his authorization codes to the sentry.

"My communications systems have taken damage." Hound said after the official check-in was completed. "Please notify the command team that we have important intelligence to report."

All business, the sentry nodded and Hound continued. "Also notify them that we have an… issue."

The sentry was silent for a moment as he passed on the message, then his optics refocused on Hound and Prowl. "Both of you are to proceed to briefing room Thirty-two Bravo. Ratchet will meet you there."

Hound acknowledged the order and then cast a significant look at Prowl. Prowl dipped his doorwings deferentially when Hound's optics narrowed.

The sentry clearly saw the exchange because he turned his attention back to Hound and cleared his vents to reclaim the scout's attention. "Red Alert also said that if the issue is the 'Con defector, put him in stasis cuffs."

Hound released air in a heated hiss through his vents and hesitated a moment then silently held his hand out toward the sentry for a pair of cuffs. Simultaneously, Prowl's armor flared, his doorwings flicking slightly before he could regain control.

Apparently his suspicion was correct. Despite having expected something like this, Prowl struggled to accept his fate.

Even so, Prowl did nothing more than suck in a draft of air as he allowed himself to be restrained without protest. He hissed sharply as the electricity arced into his frame, paralyzing his arms. Unlike before, the pain did not fade this time, meaning that they were set at the highest possible setting. He was unsure if Hound was aware of that fact and chose not to say anything just in case it was intended. Hound had been witness to his fighting ability and could easily see a need to take extra precautions, especially as the scout himself was unarmed and they were heading to a meeting with the Autobot senior command.

As painful as it was to admit, Prowl knew he might very well have done the same thing had their places been reversed.

Thankfully, the halls of the base were not heavily crowded that early in the orn, so there were not as many eyewitnesses to his embarrassing march through the corridors as there could have been. That fact allowed Prowl to notice other things. The hand that Hound placed on his arm to guide him, the way the other mech had placed the cuffs... the whole thing had been professional, firm, familiar…

Prowl blinked, looking over at Hound. "You were an enforcer… before the war?"

Hound glanced over at him. "From Tyger Pax. Street patrol."

Prowl nodded, looking back the direction they were going. It was one more thing he now knew about Hound and he had no need to press for anything further, especially knowing how reluctant Hound was about sharing his past. It did explain some things, including why the cuffs were set to full strength.

They arrived at the briefing room within breems to find the Prime, Ironhide, Jazz, Ratchet, Red Alert, Smokescreen and Blaster were all there to greet them. All of the assembled mechs reacted to the sight of Prowl bound by stasis cuffs.

Blaster blinked rapidly a couple of times. Smokescreen straightened, his optics narrowing while Red Alert smirked slightly as if pleased either that his suspicion had been confirmed or that his anticipated betrayal had been caught before real damage could be done. Only Ratchet, Jazz and Ironhide appeared openly unhappy, though the exact cause for that unhappiness was unclear. Prowl could guess, and it made him slightly more nervous.

Optimus looked truly surprised more than anything, though it was not so much his expression as it was just a tangible feeling that radiated off of him.

"What happened?" Optimus demanded in a deep rumble, not directing either of them to a chair.

Hound hesitated slightly at the tone in Optimus' voice and Red Alert looked at his leader briefly in surprise. Then the olive green scout hastily provided his report.

Prowl waited patiently, focusing on Hound to distract himself from the burning discomfort in his arms, listening as his mission commander spoke. True to his word two orns ago, Hound was completely and totally honest, sparing no significant detail. First he shared all the important tactical data they had gathered and then proceeded to explain the incident. He admitted it was Prowl's suggestion that the Praxian be the one to get closer, but that he did not trust the tactician not to return to the Decepticons. He explained how the Decepticons found him and what they did to him and then how Prowl got him out.

Optics shifted to Prowl as the story progressed and then snapped back to the scout as Hound also detailed the physical punishment he had already delivered to Prowl. He ended his spiel by acknowledging, suddenly sounding a hair sheepish, "Prowl was then able to temporarily patch the wound on my leg."

Red Alert was looking almost befuddled as he glanced between former Decepticon and Autobot scout. Ironhide looked ready to burst with something akin to extreme irritation, though his gaze was focused on Hound. Ratchet appeared to be struggling to decide whether to try and fix their damages or throw a wrench at them. Jazz's expression was hidden behind his visor but even Prowl could tell it was not pleasant. Blaster simply looked like he wished he were elsewhere at the moment, warily glancing among his comrades.

Optimus looked at Hound, who straightened under his leader's intense gaze, shifting his weight slightly from pede to pede.

"Do you have anything to add?" Optimus asked coolly, shifting his focus, and everyone's in the room, to Prowl.

Sensing the increasing tension and building agitation in the leading Autobots and, not having a clear understanding of exactly what it was directed at, Prowl knew better than to try and equivocate. Not that his new ethical program would have allowed that option in any case.

He spoke evenly. "Hound speaks the truth. I contest nothing he has said. While I regret what I did, I acted in the way that presented the highest probability of both of us surviving. I… I make no excuses for my behavior and I make no plea. I will not shirk responsibility for my actions."

He bowed his helm when he was finished speaking, knowing his words could easily be taken as a confession. That was why he did not see the way Hound looked at him: as if he had never truly seen him until that moment.

"Do you need those cuffs, Prowl?" Optimus asked softly.

The question caused a quiet stir in the other Autobots, but Prowl only looked up, slowly searching the Prime's gaze. After a sparkbeat he shook his helm. "No, sir. I have _never_ needed them."

"Hound." With a jerk of his head, Optimus indicated what he wanted done.

Hound wasted no time in reaching forward to disable and remove the stasis cuffs. Prowl could not help the hiss that escaped his vents as the painful, paralyzing electricity suddenly cut off.

Red Alert reached out and snagged the cuffs from Hound's hands. "These were set on their strongest setting."

A susurration of surprised noises circled the conference table.

"What is the meaning of that?" Optimus demanded, his engine revving angrily.

Hound was clearly caught off guard by their reaction and as such was not able to immediately give an answer. Taking pity on the mech who's reactions he felt he understood rather well, Prowl answered for him. "Standard procedure among street patrols before the war, sir. Whenever apprehending a potentially dangerous and armed mech, cuffs would be used at their highest setting as that is the only setting that can successfully penetrate any dampener the suspect might be using."

Hound blinked at Prowl, then hastily looked back at the Prime. "He's right sir; it was habit… I, I didn't even think about it."

"I see." Optimus relaxed slightly and then focused on Prowl again. "And what do you believe should be done now?"

Now it was Prowl's turn to blink at being asked such a question. Recovering swiftly. Prowl recalled the appropriate regulations as he had read them. It was a question he himself had pondered often during the drive back to Iacon and he was nowhere closer to a definitive answer than he was before. Because as clear as the regulations were…

"There is some gray in the regulations on this matter, Prime." Prowl thoughtfully reported. "As a POW, my fate rests solely in your hands, sir, under Articles of War 304-2, paragraph 3. However, for a normal Autobot soldier, it would default to Hound, as mission commander under Field Disciplinary Protocol 8 subsection 3. Unless, of course he chose to defer that right, in which case it would revert to either the Prime or his Second in Command. However, strictly speaking, there is nothing in the regulations that cover a situation where a POW is operating under the direct command structure as a normal Autobot soldier. So, according to General Operating Protocol 362.15, subsection A, paragraph 5.3, as Prime, you may make the decision as to which regulation to proceed under."

Everyone in the chamber was now staring at Prowl as if he had just formatted another helm onto his frame… backwards.

Ironhide found his voice first. "How would you know something like that?"

Prowl blinked with surprise at the large black mech's obvious shock. "Jazz gave me a datapad my first orn on parole and told me to have it finished by my first evaluation session with you."

"There were over 800 regulations and procedures on that datapad." Jazz was staring at him from behind his visor.

Prowl nodded, even more confused. "Yes, and while I was unable to finish reading them within the timeframe specified, I did complete them over the next few orn." They continued to stare at him, so Prowl cleared his vents. "My understanding of that part of the integration process was that it was to see if I would be able to adapt to and follow Autobot regulations and protocol. Something I could not do if I did not become familiar with them."

Optimus waved that comment away, his gaze somehow growing even more intense. "Regulations aside, I want to know what _you_ believe should be done."

Prowl's systems froze and he had to replay the audio file of that comment to ensure he had heard it correctly. Even so he was unable to process the question, or why he was even being asked such a thing. It did not help that everyone in the room was watching him, with careful wariness. Even Jazz was more guarded now than he had been.

Prowl spoke slowly, measuring his words carefully. "You wish to know what I would choose to do where it my decision and some other mech were in my place?"

Optimus nodded.

Prowl took his time to consider the question again, then he looked up, his ruby optics just as serious as the Prime's cerulean ones. He kept his focus on those calm oceans of serenity, speaking slowly and evenly. "Considering the extenuating circumstances surrounding the assault and the results achieved by it, I would defer that judgment to the one most directly affected: Hound."

Every Autobot in the room stared at him as if they could not quite believe what he had said, that he had not demanded leniency based on the fact he had saved Hound's life. Hound's look slowly morphed from shocked to thoughtful to slightly chagrined, but Prowl did not see that as he kept his focus on Optimus.

After a long moment, what looked like an infinitesimally brief, approving smile flicked over the Prime's faceplate before he turned his gaze onto the scout. "Hound, what are your thoughts?"

Hound did not answer right away, continuing to study the Praxian. Finally he cleared his vents, still not looking away from Prowl. "That legal mumbo-jumbo... that's why you let me beat on you out there, wasn't it."

Prowl's spinal struts straightened ever so slightly as he shifted his own optics to focus on Hound. "Of course. As mission commander, you were well within your rights."

The two mechs looked at each other for a long moment, slow realization dawning in Hound's cerulean gaze.

"Which is why you… said all of that." Hound looked down briefly, though Prowl was thrown by the seemingly random statement, then the scout looked at Optimus. "You… you are letting me decide, sir?"

Prowl blinked at the sudden earnestness in the scout's tone, as did Optimus. The Prime was a long moment in answering; when he did his words were low and measured. "Within reason. I will not allow him to be offlined or treated with undue harshness seeing as he _did_ rescue you from the Decepticons."

Hound flinched slightly at the pointed but not entirely unkind reminder, though he nodded in rapid agreement. His optics flicked to Prowl and then dropped to his pedes. It was several long moments before he spoke again, his vents heaving, as if he was struggling with what he was about to say.

"You did save my life, even if the method was less than pleasant. It was far better than what they would have done to me. If… if you were any other mech, someone I knew and trusted I… I wouldn't have even thought anything about it." Hound's optics slowly lifted back to Prowl's. "I… kept telling myself I couldn't risk forgetting what you used to be. I didn't even let myself consider the possibility of what you might have become. Thank you, Prowl, for saving my life."

Prowl was momentarily at a loss for words, a hundred different emotions suddenly vying for attention and expression and he struggled not to give place to any of them. His doorwings twitched as he realized distantly that he was now the center of attention.

He cleared his vents and then, when he had regained control, bowed his helm formally. "You are welcome Hound. And… Thank you."

The corner of Hound's lip plate quirked ever so slightly and the stressed flare of his armor slowly relaxed. Likewise, the tension in the briefing room also started to seep out. Blaster seemed the most relieved, though Red Alert was equally relieved as he was still confused. Smokescreen was mostly thoughtful, though his expression was surprisingly closed. Ratchet and Ironhide were both contemplative and watchful. Jazz seemed secretly pleased while Optimus almost radiated contentment, though his outward expression had not changed that much during the entire meeting.

"Prowl…" Optimus' deep baritone voice instantly redrew every mech's attention. "Please understand it is no reflection on your conduct but… standard procedure is for all defectors to have their processor scanned following their return from their first long-term mission."

Prowl nodded with remarkable poise, sensing the tension had skyrocketed with that one, almost hesitantly spoken sentence. "Understood, Prime. I expected as much." He glanced briefly at Jazz. "Is it to be done here and now?"

Optimus opened his mouth to answer, but Ratchet cut him off. "No!"

The CMO looked at the Prime, his entire body cocked challengingly. "They are _both_ going to the med bay. _After_ I'm done with him, you can have Prowl back for that scan. No need to put him through something like that again."

Prowl blinked at the medic then looked back at the Prime. Optimus only shrugged slightly and gestured with two fingers toward the medic as if indicating that once the Hatchet had spoken, who was he to say differently.

Jazz actually chuckled slightly then looked at Prowl. "Once Ratch is through with ya, comm. me and we'll get that scan outta tha way."

Prowl nodded. "Understood, Jazz." He almost left it at that, but something about the silver minibot's expression made him reconsider. He added, speaking slowly, watching Jazz carefully. "I will comply."

Just as he was expecting, the lines of Jazz's frame relaxed ever so slightly. It was clear that while yes, he was apparently earning their trust, at least Jazz still wanted him clearly bound by his new ethical programming in order to have confidence in that trust. That carried with it a whole slew of possible complications for Prowl, but at least it was progress.

Prowl did not have much more time to actively contemplate that development as Ratchet was already on his pedes, ushering him and Hound out the door.

… … …

Hound followed after Ratchet, aware that Prowl was walking right behind him. Before their return to Iacon, having the former Decepticon that close behind him would have made him at least a little nervous. Now, it was not so much nervousness as it was he simply felt disconcerted.

Prowl had appeared, for all intents and purposes, completely emotionless. It was hard enough to trust a former Decepticon, especially one as high ranking as Prowl had been, and when that mech seemed devoid of even normal emotions it was that much harder. Who was to say such mech would even feel a lick of regret at stabbing him in the back?

But Hound had also seen his reaction, as muted as it might have been, when he had apologized. More importantly he had seen the surprise. Surprise that he had not demanded additional punishment. Prowl had given his word that he would submit to disciplinary measures and he had _expected_ severe discipline when he did so.

And then, when the Prime gave Prowl the opportunity to dictate his own pardon, the Praxian had instead put his future back in Hound's hands. With no stipulations, no conditions. While it was true, Optimus had severely limited what he could have done to Prowl; the former Decepticon had not had those guarantees at the time.

Regardless of all of that, Hound had to face the reality Optimus had bluntly reminded him of: Prowl had saved his life. Even after the open displays of distrust, the challenges, Prowl had still rescued him… apparently he had done so even anticipating punishment for his method.

Prowl's transmission echoed again in his processors: _I am sorry. I give you my word, I will submit to whatever disciplinary measures you deem appropriate for what I am about to do. _And he had done so, even when given the opportunity to avoid it.

That bespoke a character, a level of integrity, Hound would never have suspected a Decepticon, former or otherwise, could possess. Despite how hard he had tried to keep it from happening, Hound felt his previous assumptions about the Praxian fall apart. He could not help but think Prowl truly was, at the very least not a threat, even if he wasn't an Autobot.

As if sensing his internal contemplations, Prowl leaned forward. "Is something wrong, Hound?"

Hound jumped slightly, looking back over his shoulder and then shook his head, rolling the armor on his shoulders to loosen some of the tension in his gears. "Just thinking. Nothing wrong."

Hound paused, but felt he should say more than that, especially seeing as he had given Prowl the silent treatment for nearly five orns _after_ the mech had saved his aft. He cleared his vents. "I… um, I _am_ sorry about smashing your face like that."

He saw Prowl's optic ridge cock, then there was a tiny hint of a smirk that was gone before Hound could properly identify it as such. "Considering what I did to you, I hardly have any reason to complain."

Hound winced but the med bay entrance hissed open, interrupting whatever he might have said. Ratchet pointed to one berth on the right. "Hound, up there." He pointed to another berth, this time on the left. "Prowl, that one."

The two indicated mechs glanced at each other, sharing a slightly amused look before moving to their assigned berths. Ratchet ran a quick but detailed scan over both of them then turned to Hound. "Did any of those 'Con slag heaps try to get into your head?"

Hound shook his helm. "No. I think they were waiting till one of the senior ranking officers onlined the next orn or something. Not that they told me anything."

"At least they didn't hack you," Ratchet grunted and then turned to Prowl. "A cracked mandible hinge is rather delicate work, do you want to wait for me or…?"

Hound watched Ratchet gesture toward First Aid who was starting to make his way toward them. Prowl also glanced that direction and then nodded to Ratchet. "First Aid is welcome to do the work."

"Good." Ratchet gave a single, sharp nod looking at his apprentice. "First Aid! Prowl is yours. Get to work."

"Yes, sir!" First Aid hurried over and Hound watched him run a scan over the tactician then he turned to glance at him. "What happened to you, Hound?"

Hound cleared his vents. "I was captured by 'Con seekers. Prowl got me out."

"Oh." Surprise, tinged with relief, filled First Aid's faceplate. Then he looked at Prowl. "What happened to you?"

Prowl cleared his vents but hesitated, glancing at Hound. The scout realized almost immediately why Prowl hesitated and felt his vents hitch slightly at the polite consideration.

Hound spoke before the Praxian could. "I did."

"What?" First Aid's look turned incredulous.

"I, uh, didn't like the way he got me out of the 'Con's clutches." Hound rubbed at the plating along the back of his neck, feeling his systems heat with embarrassment as First Aid continued to stare at him.

"It was well deserved, First Aid." Prowl cut in, gently touching First Aid's arm.

"Right. Right." First Aid's engine revved and he turned back to his patient.

Hound chose to take his mind off the repairs being done to his own frame by watching the junior medic interact with the former Decepticon. They spoke to each other in soft tones, but Hound was a scout; detecting and deciphering hard to hear sounds was his specialty.

"That hinge is cracked through completely." First Aid murmured. "I don't even know how you can talk with it like that."

"This is hardly the first time I have had a mandible hinge cracked." Prowl replied evenly. "Though it will be the first time I have had medical treatment for it."

First Aid's look of horror and pity were clear to see. "Megatron?" The medic asked softly after a moment.

Prowl made an affirmative noise. "And others. Seeking medical assistance for such a relatively minor injury would be seen as weakness in Decepticon ranks. The weak do not survive there."

No wonder the Praxian had not even balked under his assault, Hound realized, wincing slightly as the tension wires in his leg were spliced back together. Even so, it was a little chilling to be compared to Megatron in any way, even if not directly and not intentionally. Not that Hound could actually contest the comparison, looking back at the whole thing in retrospect.

"Well it has already partially fused out of alignment. It's only a millimeter or two, but it will take longer to heal like that and it will be weaker when it does. To do this right, I'll need to separate the fused segments, realign it and then re-fuse it. It'll hurt, not as bad as a doorwing, but still… even with painkillers." First Aid clasped his hands nervously, looking at Prowl with open anxiousness.

The look that flashed through Prowl's optics was not so much one of fear as it was almost an internal battle over whether or not to trust the young apprentice. Then those doorwings dipped ever so slightly.

Prowl's response was even softer. "Do what you feel you must, First Aid."

It sounded like there was more behind those words than Hound could first identify, the way that First Aid relaxed ever so slightly only confirmed that suspicion. The white and red medic nodded and scurried over to the storage cabinets to gather a couple of tools.

By the time First Aid had returned to Prowl's berth, Hound realized the Praxian had taken up a rather interesting position, with his hands flat on the berth beside his hip joints. It was the deliberateness of the posture that caught Hound's attention. It apparently caught First Aid's attention too, because the junior medic paused noticeably on his return.

Hound saw First Aid shift his weight slightly as if momentarily struggling with a decision and then he shook his helm, stepping closer to Prowl. "That isn't necessary, Prowl. I… appreciate the offer though."

"Are you sure, First Aid?" Prowl asked with calmness that rivaled the Prime's. "Do not feel pressured to accept more than you are comfortable with."

First Aid actually smiled slightly, his frame relaxing noticeably. "I am. I mean I _will_ be… I mean, you _aren't_ a Decepticon right? No need to treat you like one."

"I appreciate that, First Aid." Prowl's words were almost whispered and Hound felt a stab of… guilt? Shame? Surprise?. The feeling, as difficult to define as it was, only strengthened as the Praxian added even softer. "The offer remains, if you change your mind."

The sharp sting as the metal of his abdominal plating was snapped back into proper shape made Hound hiss, flinching openly. He glanced at Ratchet sharply only to receive a cocked optic ridge as if the CMO knew he had been eavesdropping.

"You did that on purpose." Hound accused quietly.

"Of course I did." Ratchet confirmed, moving on to another dent. Hound realized he had totally missed the final repairs to his leg even as the CMO continued. "There is such a thing as medic/patient confidentiality. Leave him be. By all rights _he_ shouldn't even have to be here and you know it."

Hound winced again, though not in physical pain. "Yeah, I know. I overreacted out there. Can you blame me?"

Ratchet snorted, his hands still working busily. "Seeing as how _Prowl_ apparently does not, I couldn't very well do so myself, can I?"

Hound considered that for a moment, optics straying back to the subject of his thoughts, watching as the black and white mech's only reaction to a clearly painful procedure was the occasional grimace and flinch of his doorwings. His overall posture never strayed from that of deliberate, meek submission to the medic's ministrations.

It reminded him poignantly of Prowl's silent surrender to his own assault. It was the same look he had seen in the mech's red optics right after he had downed the Decepticon guards in his cell, and Hound realized with tank-wrenching clarity that Prowl had come into that camp _anticipating_ a violent retribution just for doing what he had to in order to rescue him.

And Hound had doubted him.

"I know that look." Ratchet interrupted his thoughts again. "Stop beating yourself over the helm. There was a reason you were selected to be the one Prowl was sent with. You have only proven that once again, Jazz – the little glitch that he might be – is an excellent judge of character."

Hound cocked an optic ridge this time as Ratchet started working on the dents and scratches marring his faceplate. "Oh? He chose me because _I_ wasn't a good judge of character?"

Ratchet only shook his head. "No. Because he knew you'd be able to see past your preconceptions when confronted with sufficient evidence. You should see it as a compliment, really. Jazz was confident you'd be able to see past your justifiable prejudice and see Prowl for who he has truly become."

Hound blinked at the uncommonly sentimental statement having been delivered with a surprising amount of warmth. "Are you alright, Ratchet?"

"Hmm? Oh. Yes, of course I am." The typical bite to the CMO's tone was back as he snapped the final bit of delicate metal plating on Hound's faceplate back into shape. "And now so are you. One orn of light duty only, due to that leg. After that, full release. If you have any additional trouble, contact me. Now, get out of here."

Well trained in the art of self-preservation, Hound wasted no time in hopping of the berth and hurrying for the exit. Then he hesitated, detouring just enough to pass by where First Aid was just finishing with Prowl.

Prowl looked up at him as he came to a stop. "Hound." Prowl greeted politely enough the scout felt his tanks hitch with renewed guilt.

"Prowl…" Hound hesitated, optics flicking to First Aid briefly, but the junior medic was busily putting away tools and at least gave the appearance of not paying attention. "I just wanted to assure you… next time, I won't loose control like I did this time."

Prowl blinked, clearly surprised. "I… appreciate that."

"You aren't what I expected." Hound wanted to slam his faceplate onto the metal berth for letting such an inane comment slip.

But Prowl simply gave him a tiny half smile. "In a positive way, I hope."

Hound found himself nodding. He opened his mouth to say something but nothing really seemed appropriate. Hound flashed him a smile, but then hurried to resume his hasty exit as he caught sight of Ratchet moving toward them from his peripheral vision. "Good orn, Prowl."

… … …

Prowl watched Hound depart the med bay with all haste, a bemused expression threatening to show on his faceplate. That debriefing had gone nothing like he had expected. It had gone far better than he had let himself hope. It had been a long time since he had dared trust other mechs, let alone a leader as powerful as the Prime. And now, for the second time, the Prime had proven a mech of his word. A mech worthy of his trust.

When he received a nod from First Aid, he slid from the berth and looked up at Ratchet as the CMO approached. He endured the medic's scan without comment, understanding that he would want to check his apprentice's work.

Satisfied, Ratchet crossed his arms over his chassis. "That was quite an injustice you seem to be blowing off with remarkable ease."

Unstated was an obvious question. "Depending on your definition of 'injustice.'" Prowl returned quietly. "I did attack Hound while he was helpless to defend himself. That it was the only option available does not change the fact."

He could not miss the way First Aid started at that statement, but kept his attention focused on the CMO as he continued. "General Conduct Code, 12.06 section A, paragraph 2 specifically prohibits such behavior. There are no mitigating circumstances listed in any relevant regulation. Hound's discipline was not injustice but rather was perfectly applicable under Field Disc…"

"I know, you already referenced those regulations." Those bright cerulean optics sharpened. "Tell me, such a conflict between necessity and violation of regulations could, theoretically affect that instability I detected in your logic interfaces. How are you handling that?"

Prowl blinked, realizing the likely cause behind the stab of pain he had felt over the matter. "There are no lingering effects, if that is what you are asking."

"Hmm. I know you are going to see Jazz for that scan, so I'm not going to press you for another look at your command cortex right now. But I expect you to notify me if you notice any recurrent or new problems."

"Understood, medic." Prowl did his best not to reveal his intense relief at the reprieve, however temporary it might be. He knew he would have no choice but allow the medic inside his head if Ratchet decided he needed to do so, but knowing it was not going to happen immediately was a surprising comfort.

He started to make his way toward the exit but turned back, the inkling of an idea tickling his processors. "When Jazz is finished with me, I _would _like to discuss something different with you."

Ratchet's optic ridge quirked. "We can _discuss_ anything you wish. Don't automatically expect me to _do_ anything."

Prowl nodded deferentially. "Understood." He looked at Ratchet's apprentice. "Thank you, First Aid."

First Aid just smiled and nodded, turning back to his task of cleaning tools and placing them back in their appropriate storage locations.

Taking his leave from the med bay, Prowl stepped into the corridor. There he paused and took in a long draft of air and activated his comm. system. _/Prowl to Jazz./_

_/Jazz here./_ The saboteur's digital voice was almost jaunty. _/That took longer than I expected. I was beginnin' ta think ya forgot about me./_

Prowl allowed a quiet snort of air through his vents. _/You __**know**__ that is not possible. First Aid is a quick study, but apparently he has not done that many facial reconstructions. I did not wish to rush him./_

There was a long, incredulous pause. _/Ya let First Aid fix your __**face**__? Either Ya're braver than I thought or ya're more daft./_

Prowl let out another snort, surprised at how defensive he felt for the young, inexperienced but skilled medic. _/First Aid knows more than I believe most give him credit for. He is slower, perhaps, than Ratchet but that is from lack of confidence and practice, not lack of ability. He did a more than adequate job./_

_/Right. Well, come to my office./_ Jazz sent the location information.

Prowl processed the data, laying it over downloaded blueprints of the base and felt his systems hitch. _/That is… on the command level./_ He transmitted dumbly. _/I am not cleared to be in that area./_

Memories of Red Alert's attempt to arrest him the first time he did something as innocuous as walk in the halls unescorted flitted through his processor. But Jazz spoke again, dispelling the memories, if not the lingering sense of unease the memories had brought.

_/Ya are now. For this at least. Move it./_

_/Yes, sir./_ Prowl replied instinctively to the authoritative bite in Jazz's last words and obediently started making his way that direction.

Despite his misgivings, Prowl was not accosted by security as he exited the lift on the command level. Even so, he could not help the uncharacteristic if very slight hesitation to his movements. Even though he was not stopped, that did not mean that Prowl was not subjected to tense, suspicious even accusatory glares by the mechs he passed in the hallways.

He was admitted to Jazz's office without fanfare and could not quite stop the soft release of air that escaped his vents to have made it without complications. He entered the small room on command and was waved to a seat. The desk Jazz sat behind was, while not exactly neat and orderly, not as chaotic as Prowl might have expected.

Prowl sat as ordered, all the while under the inscrutable, visored gaze of the head of Autobot Special Operations. They both knew why he was there and it made the air tense between them.

Jazz steepled his fingers under his chin leaning on his elbow joints. "So… you impersonated a Decepticon Spec. Ops agent to get Hound out?"

"It was the best way to get into the camp without unwanted complications." Prowl paused, trying to read the other mech, wondering if he had presumptuously concluded he was going to be able to avoid judgment for his actions. "If they had had a sound-proofed room, I would not have laid a hand on him."

Jazz waved that statement away. "Hound dealt with that. It ain't my concern. Knowing that coding of yours like I do, I can't even say I'm surprised ya went after him. I'm actually half inclined ta think ya woulda done it without that programin' too."

Prowl blinked, then nodded his thanks at the off-handed expression of confidence.

Jazz smiled slightly and pushed back from his desk. "Well, might as well get this over with, yeah?"

Prowl nodded again and would have straightened were he not already sitting as straight as he possibly could. With a nearly silent whisper of air through his vents, Prowl granted access to his dataport. He watched Jazz's almost liquid movements as the saboteur slid around to his side of the desk and ruthlessly suppressed the urge to shudder. Prowl tore his gaze off the saboteur then shuttered his optics as Jazz slipped his cable into his port and synched with his processor.

But there was no brutal assault on his firewalls. Instead, Jazz 'waited' patiently for Prowl to lower them on his own. Surprised, Prowl did so quickly, braced for the inevitable invasion.

Except it never came. Instead, Jazz did nothing. Perplexed, Prowl unshuttered his optics, looking up at him.

Seeing his expression, Jazz offered him a tiny smile. "You know what I'm looking for. Show me."

Prowl blinked in surprise at the remarkably polite request. He recovered quickly, but not so quickly that he did not catch Jazz's mild humor at his expense. "Yes, sir."

Doing as asked, Prowl illuminated the pathways to all memory files related to his mission with Hound as well as all related emotional and personal files. Obediently, he left nothing out. Once the pathways were lit, Jazz wasted no time in scanning through them. While the saboteur was fast, it was not the processor-blistering speed he had utilized previously.

To Prowl's further surprise, Jazz did not stray any further into his processor, staying to the highlighted pathways. While one-way connections could never be comfortable, this was the gentlest way one of these scans could be performed. Compared to what Jazz had done previously, it was downright pleasant.

Nevertheless, Jazz was finished within a breem.

"Alright." Jazz unplugged from Prowl's port. "Done. Thank you for your cooperation, Prowler."

Prowl blinked at the_ – _friendly? – tone. It made him momentarily overlook the annoying nickname. "Of course."

"That wasn't what ya were expectin' was it?" Jazz's smirk was unmistakable now.

"Not exactly." Prowl allowed. "Though I am not complaining."

Jazz chuckled, the sound startling Prowl anew. "I imagine not." Then Jazz gave him a shooing gesture. "I happen to know a younglin' who has been anxiously waitin' for ya to come home."

Prowl _almost_ smiled, though whether it was relief that Jazz was finished or that the mech's demeanor was much, much less hostile than their last encounter in the training room, Prowl was not entirely sure. He nodded gratefully and stood. He almost made it to the door when his momentarily scattered wits suddenly reasserted themselves with a vengeance.

He stopped, drawing himself up as he turned back to Jazz. "Why?"

Jazz's lip plate twitched, though Prowl could almost see the knowing twinkle in the silver minibot's gaze, even hidden behind the visor. "Because Prime is right. You aren't a Decepticon. Not sure _what_ yet, but ya're not a 'Con."

… … …

Prowl returned to the med bay directly from Jazz's office. While his processor was, predictably, a touch sore from the scan, the discomfort was miniscule compared to what it could have been. He had Jazz to thank for that because it was much less than what he had feared, considering the angry, desperate internal battle he had witnessed in Jazz when he had offered to let the saboteur scan him following his sparring match with the Prime.

It was a surreal feeling, the same surreal feeling he had felt since stepping into that briefing room and the Prime had asked him if he needed those stasis cuffs. The combination of so many unexpected kindnesses was the only thing that gave Prowl the encouragement to do what he had first contemplated when he had left med bay.

Ratchet greeted him with a bland. "What did you wish to discuss?"

Prowl inclined his head respectfully and gestured to the Decepticon branding on his left shoulder. "The issue I wish to discuss is removing the Decepticon sigils from my armor."

Ratchet blinked, as if caught off guard, then examined the metal on first one shoulder guard and then the other with sensitive fingers. "Hmph. These can't be ground out without dangerously weakening the integrity of the armor. The piece would have to be replaced."

Prowl took this in for an astrosecond and then dipped his helm once again, pushing his disappointment away with practiced ease. "Understood. I shall wait until I am no longer on either parole or probationary status then. Thank you, Ratchet."

Prowl started to turn back toward the door, but the medic spoke again. "I can probably get a special dispensation from the Prime in your case."

Prowl froze, looking down briefly before turning to face the CMO fully. "Unnecessary. The protocol for integrating defectors is clear that non-critical use of resources on their behalf is to be avoided until they are past the probationary phase." He paused. "That would also mean I am to remain with red optics for the foreseeable future as well, I presume."

"Not necessarily." Ratchet gestured him closer to a berth with two fingers. "I can change the settings on the ones you have. Obviously I can't make them blue, but I should be able to get them to a white or yellow color."

Prowl's ruby gaze sharpened at the possibility. He spoke carefully. "I would appreciate that."

With a tiny smile Ratchet gestured him onto the berth. Suddenly struggling with well-ingrained instincts to distrust medics who willingly offered to 'help,' Prowl reminded himself that, like Ratchet had said, the CMO was _not_ a Decepticon butcher, but a trained, professional medic. Ratchet had already helped him once, when he had no reason to do so. Surely that would not change now.

"They need not be made white," He told the medic softly, settling on the metal surface. "For I am not a neutral."

Ratchet nodded his understanding and reached for him. Then blackness.

… … …

Prowl onlined, his chronometer telling him that just under two breems had passed. He blinked, doing a quick systems diagnostic out of ingrained habit, but everything came back clean. Then he gave himself a half-sparked rebuke. He had chosen to trust the Autobots, he would do so until he was given reason not to. That was, after all, what they were doing with him.

Prowl blinked again and focused on Ratchet's, now hovering over him with an almost smug look. For some reason Prowl had the conflicting thought that he should be concerned by what the expression represented and the realization that, for some reason, he was not.

He sat up slowly, keeping his optics on Ratchet as the CMO stepped back to give him space.

"Take a look." Ratchet handed him a metal sheet that was polished to a mirror shine.

Hesitating a moment longer to consider the now openly self-satisfied smirk on Ratchet's faceplate and what it could possibly mean, Prowl gathered his courage. Then he forced himself to take in a draft of air and look at his reflection.

Bright, golden-amber optics stared back at him.

* * *

_There. A resolution to the cliff hanger of the previous chapter. :) So, things are changing a little for Prowl. Thoughts, comments, anything? Please review._


	17. Strides

The optics that stared back at Prowl were a golden, almost amber, color and he almost – _almost –_ smiled. Before the war he had used yellow optics and it was gratifying to see himself with a similar color once again. More importantly, they were no longer Decepticon red. He might still wear the purple sigil on his armor, but at least his optics told the truth.

Lowering the metal sheet he looked up at Ratchet, realizing the medic had done exactly as he had said, nothing more, and had not taken advantage of having complete access to his systems while he was unconscious. It had been a long time since he had been able to trust those whom he was forced to turn to for medical care, but he was beginning to think Ratchet was one he _could_ trust without concern. Perhaps.

"Thank you, Ratchet." He dipped his helm formally.

Ratchet's smug grin translated into almost careless movements as he gestured to the mirror expectantly. "I unlocked some of the controls for you. You should be able to turn them darker… just in case you find yourself needing to impersonate a Decepticon again."

Prowl blinked and then lifted the shiny metal piece again. Accessing the controls he concentrated briefly and watched as, sure enough, the optics staring back at him turned several shades darker. They never reached the deep ruby they had been before, an only truly became a burnt, rich amber, but it would probably be enough to fool the dimwitted types like the ones guarding the camp he and Hound had discovered. Those mechs had not even questioned what a _Praxian_ was doing in the Decepticon ranks after Megatron's purge of their type.

It was an odd sensation as he watched them fade back to the lighter golden color they had been set to. "Impressive."

Ratchet's self-satisfied expression only grew wider and Prowl finally recognized it for what it was; Ratchet took smug, professional delight in being able to deliver more to a patient than what had been expected. Apparently, even if that patient was him.

He felt a twinge of guilt once again, knowing it had been his fault Ratchet and the other medics were selectively targeted now. Perhaps, one day, he would be able to right that wrong. But for now he pushed the unwanted emotion away and stood, sliding from the berth.

Ratchet took his mirror back and pointed imperiously to the med bay doors. "You are welcome. Now. Get out of here before I give you a _reason_ to be in the med bay."

The order was punctuated by a low growl of the medic's engine and Prowl hastened to obey.

His first stop was to pick up Bluestreak from Chromia's keeping.

As if sensing it was him, the small gray and blue youngling was the one who answered the entry request chime, though Chromia was right behind him.

"Prowl!" Was the only warning he got before a surprisingly solid little body collided with him, clinging tightly to his armor. The small frame magnetized to his leg, and the tiny doorwings quivered in time with silent keens.

"Bluestreak." Prowl greeted the enthusiastic display with a gentle hand on the small back. "I am pleased to see you again."

"You were gone for a long time. I was afraid you weren't coming back. I couldn't recharge well." Bluestreak accused even as the trembling started to ease.

"You had Ratchet change your optic color." Chromia pointed out from several steps away. "Gold becomes you."

Prowl glanced at the blue femme and nodded formally. "It is a far better representation than their previous hue."

"I suppose so…"

"You changed your optic color?" Bluestreak interrupted, perked out of his momentary slump, straining to see. Then he was climbing Prowl's frame until he was perched high enough he could easily look into his guardian's face. "Whoa, did it hurt when he did it? Do they feel differently? Do things look different now? How long did it take? Are they going to go back red accidentally? How come you didn't get that done earlier? You don't look nearly as frightening like this, will that mean 'bots won't be as mean to you?"

Prowl could not stop the near smile that quirked his lip plates as he lifted his free hand to gently tap Bluestreak's helm. "Yes. No. No. No. Roughly two breems. No. It was not an option. I don't know."

Bluestreak's faceplate scrunched up as much as it was able. "Huh?"

"I know you must have questions, Bluestreak. But you must ask them one at a time or the answers are likely to make little sense."

The small blue helm cocked to the side as the youngling processed that statement. Then he straightened, smiling brightly. "Oh. I get it. Sorry. I'm glad you're home."

With that Bluestreak threw his small gray arms around his neck and squeezed tightly.

"As am I." Prowl answered quietly and found, as unexpected as the idea of Iacon being 'home' was, he meant those words.

Then he felt sensory energy brush across him and looked at Chromia, careful to keep his expression that of bland curiosity.

"I do hope you are planning to go refuel. Soon." She said by way of explanation. "In fact, if you don't refuel before returning to your quarters, I will report you to Ratchet."

At first, Prowl believed the threat to be in earnest. Then, as the light in her optics twinkled, he realized it was as much jest as it was serious. "Ah… please do not. I am sure he would not be happy to see me again so soon. I shall go refuel directly."

She gave him a devious smile and then shooed him away before closing the door to her quarters.

"I think she wants you to go refuel." Bluestreak said, nodding with all seriousness. "I've already had my energon and my tanks are full, but I want to go with you anyway. You've been gone too long."

Once he started walking toward the rec room, Bluestreak indicated he wanted down so he could walk as well. Pausing momentarily, Prowl allowed the youngling to regain his own pedes and then let his hand be grasped by the small blue and gray one that circled it. Side by side like this, the two Praxians entered the rec room.

Much to Prowl's chagrin, it was rather busy, actually more crowded than it had been the orn Inferno had asked him to leave. With a deep intake of air into his systems, Prowl started walking through the crowd toward the energon dispensers.

No one noticed them at first, but that anonymity did not last long. Just as the previous time, awareness of his presence spread rapidly and mechs stilled their actions to turn and stare. It happened like a wave, moving out symmetrically from those only a few meters away from the entrance.

Bluestreak noticed the sudden tension in the room and clearly was uneasy about it, sidling closer to Prowl, clinging to his arm while pressing against his leg and looking around nervously. When the attention did not slack, he turned anxious optics up to Prowl who could clearly read the unasked question and nodded.

He paused long enough to bend over so that Bluestreak could hook an arm around his neck and then stood, keeping one arm securely around the youngling. This action, predictably, only served to trigger a new round of murmurs and canted looks.

Prowl's engine revved quietly as he proceeded directly, if stiffly, to the energon dispensers, determined to take his ration and retreat, if not to his quarters then at least to the observation deck. He could not help but notice how most of the mechs hastily made way for him, stepping aside with either nervousness or fear, though sometimes disgust and obvious antipathy as well.

There was only one mech at the dispenser, one whom Prowl did not recognize. He alone was not immediately aware of his presence. However, as Prowl drew closer, the mech, blue and white with a touch of yellow, glanced over his shoulder. Prowl could see the moment the mech recognized him, a full body shudder rippling his armor and then hastily looking away, his vents flaring.

Feeling horrible to have engendered such an instinctively terrified response, though he did nothing to let that show outwardly, Prowl spoke quickly. "No."

The mech froze, optics wide in clear terror, looking at him again as if he might bolt at any moment. It was worse than First Aid had initially been. Prowl took a step backwards, dipping his doorwings apologetically. "Please, finish what you were doing."

The mech did as he was told, though his hands were trembling in obvious fear.

Bluestreak watched the whole thing from his vantage point safely in Prowl's arms, though now his curiosity had overcome his initial unease. He looked at Prowl with wide optics. "What's he so scared of?"

The words, spoken somewhat loudly so as to ensure they were heard over the general ambient noise, echoed in the sudden silence.

Every optic in the rec room was now focused on the pair, curious as to how the infamous Decepticon would respond. The mech Bluestreak had referenced froze completely as if afraid to move now that he had been singled out.

Prowl released a heated intake. He answered softly, though most of the mechs nearby – and certainly the one in question – could hear clearly. "I can not know the answer for certain, Bluestreak, though I strongly suspect it is what this symbol represents." He pointed to the Decepticon brand on his shoulder. "Of what I used to be."

Bluestreak's head canted slightly as he processed this. "When you were a De-cep-ti-con?"

"Yes."

Bluestreak was silent for a moment then frowned. "But if you aren't one any more, then why is everyone still afraid of you?" He swung his free arm around in illustration. "'Cause he isn't the only one."

Prowl's systems were heating in embarrassment as even more attention was focused on them. "I would imagine not." He said softly. "But it will take time for them to see that I am not a threat."

Bluestreak pouted, his faceplate scrunching up unpleasantly. "But they are being silly… and, and mean! Everyone always says 'hi' to Chromia when she brings us here, but not only are they being rude to you, they are doing it to me too. And I don't understand. I mean, you don't do anything to me, why would they think you would do something to them?"

Prowl released another vent, wishing he could be anywhere else but in the crowded rec room, at the center of attention, answering such an uncomfortable question. Peripherally he was aware that the mech at the energon dispenser was slowly becoming unfrozen and was gradually turning to look at them with wide optics.

He forced himself to focus on Bluestreak and ignore their audience. "Bluestreak, do you remember what we discussed about trust?"

Bluestreak's head canted to the other side. "That no one here trusts you, because you used to be an important Decepti-con."

Prowl nodded. "Yes. You must have patience with others." He nodded toward the mech at the dispenser who was facing them now, his lower jaw slack. "For example, he had no way of knowing that I would not push him aside or threaten him for being in my way because that is what most Decepticons would do."

"But… you aren't one anymore." Bluestreak objected plaintively. "Why would anyone think you'd act like one?"

Prowl's doorwings twitched before he could stop them. "It will take time to prove to them I am _not_ a Decepticon."

"Oh." Bluestreak looked around at their audience as if only just becoming aware of it and then curled up against Prowl's chassis in a sudden bout of shyness.

"Prowl?" Bluestreak whispered against white metal armor. "Can you take your energon back to our quarters. They're making me feel bad."

Prowl blinked and had to fight down a growl at the hurt tone in Bluestreak's voice. "Of course, Bluestreak. We…"

The mech at the dispenser stepped hastily toward them "Um, no, no…" He hesitated when Prowl looked up at him and then quickly held out a cube of softly glowing energy. "Here. Um, don't le…leave because of, of me. Please."

Prowl's doorwings flicked against his will once again. "You are hardly the only one here who is clearly uncomfortable with my presence."

The mech looked around and grimaced at seeing the audience starring at them. Then he shook his head, systems heating as if only then realizing the whole scene was his fault because it was _his_ fear Bluestreak had commented on.

He cleared his vents. "W…Well, you aren't the only one being stared at ri…right now either."

Prowl glanced around and saw that the smaller, blue and white mech was correct; all three of them were the center of attention, not just him and Bluestreak. He flared his own vents slightly.

The other mech smiled timidly. "I… um. Stay. P…Please? T…Take your energon with me? It, it's my fault. I… don't want the two of you to leave ju…just because I…I got scared."

Prowl stiffened at the murmured susurration that moved through the crowd. Then he glanced down at Bluestreak in silent question. The youngling was looking thoughtfully at the other blue mech. Then Bluestreak looked up at him and gave a tiny, timid smile of his own. Knowing the sparkling needed to be out with other mechs and not cloistered in their quarters, Prowl acquiesced and let his fingers close around the offered energon cube.

"Thank you. That is most generous…?"

"Beachcomber." The other mech relaxed visibly. "My designation is Beachcomber."

"…Beachcomber." Prowl filed that information away. "I am Prowl."

After an astrosecond's hesitation, Prowl shifted the cube carefully to the hand of the arm supporting Bluestreak and then, careful not to move too quickly and risk setting the other mech off again, extended his hand to Beachcomber.

All movement in the rec room stilled as Beachcomber looked, with open surprise written on his faceplate, at the proffered palm. Blue optics darted back up to search his own, now golden ones. Then, slowly, a white hand rose to touch his, palm to palm. The moment of contact stretched, as if time itself could not truly believe it had happened, and then restarted with a vengeance.

Murmurs broke out anew in those watching and the two mechs reclaimed their hands quickly. Feeling slightly out of sorts, Prowl followed Beachcomber to a corner table and let Bluestreak down to take his own seat. The Autobot let him choose his own chair, and Prowl chose the one that placed his back against the wall, and then Beachcomber slid into the one across from him.

It took a few fumbling attempts, but the two of them were able to maintain a relatively normal conversation. It was awkward to be sure, for both of them, but that did not mean that Prowl did not appreciate the effort. And while interest in them waned over time, it never faded completely.

As the others paid them less attention, Beachcomber's tension also ebbed. Like their audience, it never went away completely, but Prowl did notice that, after about fifteen breems, the stutter had completely disappeared, even if the nervous set of his armor did not completely relax.

Prowl learned that Beachcomber had been a data clerk before the war, a pacifist at spark who hated violence but had chosen the Autobots because he believed in their ideals and principles. It explained the strength of his initial reaction and Prowl could not help but feel that Beachcomber was stronger than the mech seemed to think of himself that he would accept the hand of friendship in such a situation.

In the chair perpendicular to both of the adults', Bluestreak beamed happily because his Prowl was making a friend. Perhaps his caretaker would not be so lonely any more. And that… that would be a good thing.

… … …

Several orns after his encounter with Beachcomber found Prowl himself sitting by himself in a relatively uncrowded rec room. Prowl told himself he enjoyed the isolation. At the very least he did not miss the drama. Yes, he had told Jazz once he would not be injured by loneliness; that did not mean he found it particularly pleasant.

He had been equally alone when among Decepticons, but that had been a matter of survival; one did not let one's guard down because a mech you called friend would turn on you just as easily as the next. The type of vulnerability it produced to let another individual truly get to know you was far too much of a liability among Megatron's troops. For this reason, the situation he found himself in was not new to Prowl.

What was new was witnessing the friendships that _did_ exist on the Autobot base. It was first demonstrated the way Jazz, Ratchet and others had positioned themselves to protect Smokescreen that first time he had been taken to the med bay. He saw it every orn now in the way mechs would relax in each other's presence and it was a dynamic Prowl found he was missing in his own existence, though he also knew he would not be able to experience again for some time, if ever.

He was a former Decepticon and, no matter that he now saw the world through golden optics instead of red, he knew there would be some Autobots who would never forget his former loyalties and that such a history alone would disqualify him from being a worthy friend. It was reality and he did his best to simply accept it with the same resigned equanimity he did the fact he would doubtless have his processor scanned again.

So absorbed was he in his introspection, Prowl did not bother to look up when the rec room door hissed open, admitting yet another mech.

He had long ago given up the hope he would be able to develop another friendship such as the ones he had in the Praxus Enforcer Precinct. It was a reality he had accepted in the Decepticon army, it was one every single Decepticon abided by. What stung now was seeing that friendships were again 'safe' but knowing _he_ would be denied that comfort and the strength that distant experience had taught him could come from such ties.

But reality was reality and brooding over something he could not change was illogical.

He lifted his half-finished cube to his lip plates and took a cautious sip in an attempt to ward off the twinge of pain that feathered at his processors. He lowered it again, straightening slightly as he saw Jazz swaggering toward him with a cube of his own.

"Jazz." Prowl greeted politely, shifting his balance to stand respectfully, but a negligent wave of a clawed hand kept him in his seat.

"How ya doin' Prowler?" Jazz swung himself uninvited into the seat across from him.

Prowl flinched at the nickname but answered the question. "I am doing adequately… Yourself?"

It came out sounding almost stilted, but the feeling generated by answering and then asking such a simple, innocuous question of Jazz was disconcerting to say the least. This mech had been in his processors three times and had seen more about him than any other living being, even the friends he had had back in Praxus.

This informal an interaction seemed… wrong.

Jazz nodded, as if completely unaffected by the unusualness of the situation, which, as far as Prowl knew, was the truth. "I can't complain."

Then the silver saboteur made a point of looking around, including under the table. Just as Prowl was about to ask what he was searching for, Jazz spoke again. "So, where's lil' Blue?"

Prowl folded his other hand over the one holding the energon cube. "He is with Bumblebee, spending the orn in Ironhide and Chromia's keeping."

Jazz just stared at him, which was not exactly the reaction Prowl had expected. Even so, he did nothing but return the dubious look with a carefully bland one of his own.

"Somethin' wrong with ya guardian subroutines, mech?"

The question took Prowl aback almost as much as the genuinely startled tone. Fully activated guardian subroutines would make it very difficult for him to leave Bluestreak in the custody of someone he did not trust implicitly, which no one on the base was. Surely Jazz could understand how that would not be a wise move on his part.

His response was delivered stiffly, his doorwings flaring slightly. "No, they are simply not engaged."

When Jazz's simply curious expression morphed into something almost scandalized, Prowl hastened to continue, explaining. "I am operating under the general protective subroutines every Enforcer has for dealing with sparklings and younglings. But it is not wise for me to engage actual guardian protocols at this time."

He had the distinct impression of Jazz narrowing his optics, though he could not see such an act through the visor that masked his expression. "Why is that?"

Prowl could not help the incredulous expression that crossed his faceplate, though it was also tinged with caution in that he thought he heard a somewhat sharper bite to the other mech's words. Thus he drew in a vent of air and explained.

"Once I engage guardian protocols there is no going back, as you are well aware. I do not want to think about what it would mean if I fail to pass my probationary period and have activated those subroutines as I highly doubt you would let him leave with me if you cast me out." His doorwings flinched slightly just putting that thought into words.

Jazz only stared at him, then shifted slightly in his seat, leaning back a little. "Mech… Ya _are_ his guardian. Subroutines or not. He chose ya, for whatever reason. We wouldn't come between a charge and guardian 'less the charge's life was in danger and I _know_ that'd never be the case with ya."

Now it was Prowl's turn to just stare, not entirely sure he understood the saboteur correctly. "That… is more than I expected."

Jazz straightened a little, frowning ever so slightly at that and it was a long moment before he spoke. He reached out as if to touch Prowl's shoulder but when the Praxian flinched slightly he froze and dropped his hand back to the table. "Just think about it, Prowler."

"I… I will." Prowl felt his balance systems hitch momentarily, though at what exactly he was not sure. "Thank you." The last came out almost as a question and it brought a tiny smirk onto Jazz's face.

"So…" Jazz hesitated after a moment as if struggling to find something to say. Almost anything he could ask about the Praxian's past would be redundant, not to mention positively rude, because he had already scanned Prowl multiple times. Other 'normal' questions were nothing but awkward as well. 'Anyone waiting for you back home?' Nope; Praxus was nothing but a pile of dust and debris now – not exactly the best conversation starter. 'What are you up to these orns?' Also awkward because he was sure it would be seen as an official questioning/ interrogation or would otherwise simply be inconsiderate. Same thing for inquiries about how Prowl might feel about his current living arrangements or any experiences he had had recently.

He glanced up from his energon to look at Prowl. The Praxian was watching him with the same careful expression that told the saboteur the other mech was guarded.

Surely there was something he could talk about that would not make the mech any more nervous. Then he had to suppress a smile at realizing he had been able to glean even that much from under Prowl's façade of unaffectedness. Then his processor locked onto a possibility.

Pitching his voice to hold a precise blend of simple curiosity and friendly inquiry, Jazz started over. "So, why did ya study Circuit Su rather than any of the other styles?"

Prowl jerked slightly as if the question was a physical blow and Jazz feared he might have pushed too far. He opened up his hands. "Its alright, mech. Ya don't have ta tell me. I ain't askin' for any reason than simple curiosity. Ya got a right ta privacy…"

When Prowl's optic ridge quirked at that, Jazz stumbled to a stop, realizing how ironic and hypocritical that sounded coming from _him_ specifically. Especially when he himself had warned Prowl he had no privacy. When he himself had installed the monitoring devices in Prowl's quarters. When they both knew he would be conducting another scan of Prowl's processor; it was only a matter of time.

Jazz deflated, sagging slightly in his chair. Never before had the necessary duties of his job bothered him as they did right at that moment because never before had he had any interest in his assignments to any greater extent that that. But Prowl was… different. Fascinating. Complicated. Tragic. Valuable.

His vents hitched at that last thought, stuttering slightly. He was getting too personally involved and he knew it. Knew it could end badly for him. Would. He had other friends who were not troubled by the darker side of his job, but then he made sure they never knew the fullness of what it entailed, the true depth of what it meant. But Prowl… he had _experienced_ it first hand.

Of course the mech would be guarded, suspicious even. And Jazz could not blame him, especially since they both knew what he _would_ be required to do at least one more time.

Perhaps he had been premature in seeking Prowl out… pit, he had shamelessly used the tracking device to locate him. So much for privacy. He snorted air through his vents at his own hypocrisy. No wonder Prowl just stared at him like that.

Jazz was about to apologize and give up but then realized with the suddenness of a plasma blast to the cranial plating that he had approached this wrong. Prowl was not one for trivialities. And Prowl had seen Jazz at work, there was no need to equivocate with Prowl, to maintain the front he did for most of the mechs who called him friend.

Not that Prowl would ever consider him a friend.

He looked up to meet that now amber-hued gaze. "You're right. Ya don't have a right to privacy right now. But ya will someday and why ya chose to learn Circuit Su is not really applicable to anything having to do with the Autobots right now so the question is not somethin' ya have ta answer if ya don't want ta. And I wouldn't even blame ya if ya didn't want ta." He paused. "In your place I probably wouldn't."

He stilled his vents, waiting with subdued nervousness for Prowl's reaction. The Praxian studied him carefully, openly evaluating his words and demeanor. Then, plate-by-plate some of the tension eased out of the white and black frame.

"Thank you Jazz, for giving me the option." Prowl spoke slowly, measuring. "And for choosing to be forthright."

It was said as if Prowl had been completely aware of the dissembling Jazz had almost opted for and he silently thanked Primus for choosing not to. He smiled slightly, encoding a brief alert in his CPU to always choose open bluntness with Prowl whenever possible… it seemed to work better and, he realized, would be the _only_ way he could ever earn and keep the mech's trust and respect.

"What can I say, Prowler? Ya bring out the best in me." Jazz immediately wanted to slam his faceplate into his hands. Only the slight coughing sound coming from the Praxian's engine kept him from doing so. Instead he chuckled slightly at the look on Prowl's faceplate.

"If this is the best, I fear to imagine what the worst is." The comment came low and dry and only served to turn Jazz's chuckle into a full out laugh.

And that only served to confuse Prowl even more as if he had not intended his comment to be humorous.

Jazz struggled to regain control and then hesitated, but decided to say it anyway. "You've already seen worse."

Any other mech would have recoiled at such a statement, would have shuddered at the memory and, while that might have happened behind that bland façade, all Prowl did was blink, his doorwings twitching ever so slightly. "Hmn. Indeed. Then I must concur. This is infinitely better."

It was Jazz's turn to stare, faceplate suddenly slack. Was… was that a joke? Surely not. No, it could not be. Prowl was still too serious, too uneasy around him to joke. But, if he looked closely, there was a small twinkle in the Praxian's optics… or was that a trick of the lighting? He just was not sure. But, perhaps, he would get the chance to find out… eventually.

Jazz's faceplate eased into a more relaxed smile and he dipped his helm in brief acknowledgement of the tactician's observation. He was rewarded by a further easing of the tension in Prowl's frame and a tiny, almost nonexistent, smile.

While there was still an awkwardness between them, while Jazz could not forget who and what Prowl was and what his job would require him to do in the future, while Prowl could not forget his true status and what Jazz would doubtless do to him again they were able to _talk_ to each other. It was a discussion between mechs, not just between Decepticon defector and Autobot officer or between prisoner and interrogator, even if it was those things as well.

It was a strange and unlikely dynamic that, Jazz found himself hoping as he made his way back to his quarters nearly a joor later, he hoped Prowl found as rewarding as he had.

But Prowl was well on his way to proving his defection and earning a place among the Autobots. It was still fragile, the trust that had been built to date, but it was trust where before there had been none. And the discussion he had had with Prowl gave Jazz hope that perhaps, when the other, less pleasant aspects of their relationship were no longer applicable, there might be something there that would last.

* * *

_Yes, I am aware that this chapter is substantially shorter than most of the more recent ones, but that is simply because it is at a good stopping point. Yes, this was mostly a touchy-feel good, almost fluffy chapter. But I figured Prowl needed a break, the poor guy. So yes, this chapter is basically a transition piece and yes there are a lot of minor points (almost trivial details really) in this chapter that will come into play later, so have faith: I wouldn't waste your time *just* to write fluff. :) And I believe the next chapter will make up for the brevity of this one. __*Wink* _

_Be honest now, this was one of the moments a lot of you were waiting for, wasn't it? The moment where Jazz and Prowl actually start to construct that enduring, unlikely, tested by fire friendship that enthralls so many of us. Before anyone asks or speculates: __**No.**__ I am not taking their relationship any deeper than that of close and trusted confidant, and a brother-in-arms forged in the trials of war and made possible by perfectly complimenting personalities. __**There will be NO romantic paring between Jazz and Prowl. Period.**_

_Okay. Moving on. Don't worry, there is much more action and tribulation in store for our favorite tactician (you didn't think that this is all it would take for the 'Bots to completely trust him, did you?) and that action starts with the next chapter. So please, enjoy the breather while it lasts. Still accepting speculation on who the 'possible traitor' might be. Don't assume he has been mentioned in the story yet. Remember, Prowl has only actually encountered a handful of Autobots on the base and the story has been mostly from his POV. If he hasn't met the bot in question, neither have we. :) On that note, please review and let me know what you are thinking!_


	18. Betrayal

_Okay, hopefully this chapter will make up for the brevity of the last one. It is the second longest chapter in this story, so far. And I must apologize, sleep deprivation has struck again and the only reason this one is out so quickly is because I actually had half of it written before I posted the last chapter. So... yeah. I cannot guarantee the next one will be so timely (though I will try, I promise.)_

_Congratulations to __**Sunstarunicorn **__for correctly guessing who the traitor is going to be… even if it was done jokingly. Kudos! _

_**Warning**__: As the name of this chapter might suggest, there are some rough moments to come that some readers might find difficult to read (yes, even compared to what has already happened). It is not gratuitous in my reasoning, just enough to get the point across…_

* * *

Prowl was walking back to his quarters with Bluestreak from the wash racks early the next orn when he received an internal communications ping. The source signal caught him by surprise, as it was from the last mech he would have anticipated initiating contact with him. Controlling his reaction, Prowl accepted the incoming signal.

_/Smokescreen to Prowl./_ His apprentice's digital voice was carefully devoid of inflection, almost cold.

_/Prowl here./_ He responded, pausing his walk and answering Bluestreak's puzzled look with a finger to the side of his helm and a soft. "Comm."

Bluestreak nodded his understanding and instantly went to studying something located on the wall near his optic level that was apparently fascinating.

Seeing that Bluestreak was momentarily content, Prowl was able to focus on Smokescreen's next statement. Or rather clipped command. _/Report to briefing room fifteen alpha. Now/_

Prowl stiffened slightly at hearing his former subordinate address him in such a manner. Then he reminded himself that, here and now, Smokescreen had every right to speak to him however he wished. _/Yes sir./_

He paused, glancing at Bluestreak. _/Permission to take Bluestreak by Chromia's quarters first?/ _

It was particularly humiliating to have to ask for such permission but his status allowed him no choice, even in such fundamental tasks. Prowl's doorwings dipped even though there was no one there to see it.

Smokescreen hesitated an astrosecond, sounding put out. _/Yes. You have five breems. Don't be late./_

The last, tacked on command was completely unnecessary, especially for Prowl and the tactician knew Smokescreen was aware of that fact. It was intentional. But the signal cut off abruptly enough it would be considered rude. Not that Prowl was particularly surprised by that, not after the way the conversation had gone to that point.

_/Understood, sir./_ Prowl transmitted weakly to the dead line. Then he released a vent and looked at Bluestreak. _/Prowl to Chromia./_

_/Chromia here./_ Was her instant reply. _/What is it?/_

_/I have just been asked to report for a mission briefing. I need to drop Bluestreak off/_ Prowl gently reclaimed Bluestreak's attention and pointed down the corridor.

Bluestreak fell into step with him even as Chromia replied, not sounding at all surprised. _/Of course. I am ready./_

_/Thank you. We are almost there./_

True to his word, they arrived at her door within a breem. Bluestreak looked up at him. "You're dropping me off with Chromia? I thought you had today off. You said you would take me to the training room and then we were going to get energon."

Prowl nodded, kneeling and ducking his doorwings apologetically. "I too believed I would be 'off' today. However, the message I received was an order to report for a mission."

Bluestreak hesitated, then looked up at him with wide blue optics. "How long will you be gone this time?"

"I do not know." Prowl answered honestly, regret stabbing into his spark. He knelt to put him on the same level as the distressed youngling. "Bluestreak… I am sorry. My preference would be to stay with you. But I do not have that option."

Bluestreak gave him a tiny, sad smile and lifted a small hand to touch Prowl's cheek plating. "I know. You have to do what you have to do. Just… please be careful. You were gone so long last time and… I was scared."

Prowl hesitated and then lifted his hand to touch the one Bluestreak still kept against his cheek. "You are brave, Bluestreak. I do not mean to cause such sparkache for you. Know that I will always do my best to return for you. If, for some reason I can not or am delayed for a long period, Chromia will watch out for you in my stead."

"He's right, Bluestreak." Chromia said from just inside her quarters. "On all counts. You will never have to be alone."

Bluestreak glanced over at her and then looked back at Prowl. "I… just promise you will be careful…please."

"I will be as careful as I am able." Prowl answered softly, honestly, unable to promise more; unable to promise he would _always_ be careful because such a vow could easily interfere with his duty and his previous commitment to the Autobots.

Bluestreak nodded even as Chromia stepped forward and gently rested a hand on his shoulder, urging him to follow. "Do not doubt Prowl's dedication to you, Bluestreak. But we must let him fulfill the duties he has been given."

Bluestreak nodded, reluctantly stepping away. "I will be waiting, Prowl."

Prowl allowed his engine to purr soothingly as he briefly reached out and ran the back of his finger over a trembling little doorwing. "And I will be doing everything I can to return in as timely a fashion as I can."

Then, before he lost the strength to do so, Prowl stood. He nodded to Chromia. "Thank you."

She returned the gesture and then ushered Bluestreak inside her quarters. Bluestreak went, but he glanced back, worried blue optics meeting tense amber ones before the door hissed shut.

Prowl took in and released a system full of air and then resolutely turned toward the lifts and toward whatever fate awaited him under Smokescreen's jurisdiction. It was not the most comfortable position he had found himself in lately. Even so, he recognized that if they chose to utilize his tactical abilities, it was a situation he would likely find a permanent arrangement.

As uncomfortable as that might be, us demeaning as it would doubtlessly feel to answer to his former subordinate, Prowl resigned himself to it. He had given his word offering his abilities and skills and, just as he had reminded the Prime; his personal dignity and comfort were not stipulated in that promise. And, he realized, he owed Smokescreen that much at least: to accept the younger mech's command without complaint. Just as leaving Bluestreak had made his spark ache, he knew that he wanted to restore what he could of his relationship with Smokescreen as well. Considering the level of antipathy Smokescreen now held for him however, Prowl doubted that was a goal that would ever be achieved. But he would not make the situation harder on his former apprentice than it had to be.

He stepped into the assigned briefing room exactly two breems before the deadline he had been given was up. He hesitated briefly, glancing at the other mechs… other mechs and the _femme_… waiting for him.

"About time." A typical, scouting-build mech with a paint scheme similar, but not identical, to his own muttered. Prowl did not know the mech's name, though he did recall the mech's faceplate from around the base and even from one of the rescue teams that had gone into Praxus.

Next to him was the light green femme who was leaning back in her chair, one hand resting lightly on the table as she turned her light blue gaze to examine him. He knew her designation to be Moonracer, but only because there were so few femmes on the base – and in Autbot ranks in general. She was a sniper by trade.

Other than those two, Springer, Hound, Ironhide and Smokescreen were also there. Ironhide alone was not sitting at the table but was standing against one wall, arms crossed as if he were there simply to observe, perhaps act as security if necessary. The fact that Smokescreen directed him to the chair directly in front of Ironhide's looming frame only confirmed that suspicion.

Springer watched Prowl silently as the Praxian crossed the room. The scout did not look overly pleased, but at least he did not appear openly belligerent either. Hound briefly caught his optics and nodded ever so slightly. Prowl returned the gesture politely as he settled into his assigned seat. Then looked expectantly as Smokescreen.

From the borderline hostile and openly wary looks he was receiving, Prowl expected to be magnetized to the chair. Thankfully, that did not happen.

Without even bothering to introduce him to the two new Autobots, Smokescreen spoke, regarding him critically. "Ratchet said you can still make your optics red if needed."

Prowl nodded slowly. "Yes, I can."

"Good." Smokescreen tapped a finger on the table surface and then activated the controls for the system's holographic display. Wavering slightly before stabilizing, a holographic map appeared, floating in the air over the table. It rotated slowly, allowing everyone to see it from all perspectives. "This is the situation. We have been working to evaluate all of the sites your analysis suggested as possible 'Con safe houses. This is the only one we have not confirmed. Our spies simply have not been able to get close enough. That is where you come in, Prowl."

Prowl frowned, taking in that statement and what it likely implied considering Smokescreen's initial question. "You wish for me to impersonate a Decepticon."

Springer gave him a hard look. "Shouldn't be that hard. You've had enough practice."

Hound and Ironhide shot Springer equally hard looks, and Smokescreen looked annoyed. Moonracer and the still unknown black and white mech seemed to be in tacit agreement with him however. Prowl felt his doorwings flinch slightly, but he did not respond, keeping his reaction carefully hidden.

"Yes." Smokescreen responded to Prowl's question after a long moment and then proceeded to lay out his plan, the general gist of which was for Prowl to make his way into the Decepticon base posing as an undercover agent forced to retreat from Iacon with vital intelligence, and then use that access to get the information they needed.

It appeared to be well thought out, but there was something about the whole situation that was bothering Prowl and he simply could not push that feeling aside. He tasked a portion of his tactical computer to the task of figuring it out.

He pulled his gaze off of the hologram and fixed it on his former apprentice. "And if they do not fall for it and I am attacked or captured?"

Smokescreen's expression was sharp as diamond and he responded without noticeable hesitation. "Thankfully you don't know enough about our operations to be a real threat to our security. But that is why Moonracer is going on this mission. She is one of the best snipers we have."

Prowl considered the other tactician for another astrosecond, not liking the sound of that statement, and then looked at the femme. "Insurance against the possibility I opt to change sides?"

Moonracer grinned, though there was nothing pleasant about it. "Something like that. It _has_ happened once already."

Prowl bit back a retort at her absolutely confident tone. He frowned, asking his next question carefully. "And if I am captured but not turned… and _not_ tempted to buy my freedom with betrayal? Or do you simply plan to ensure I do not get captured alive?"

The smile fell from Moonracer's lips and she leaned forward, all seriousness and deadliness. "If I am?"

The tension in the room suddenly spiked and Prowl felt Ironhide tense behind him as if readying to jump in. Springer, Smokescreen and the other mech also reacted defensively while Hound appeared troubled. The unified reaction to the question made him uneasy, but he dipped his helm accepting the implied conditions. "It is simply helpful to know where I stand. You are a good shot, I trust?"

"One shot, one kill. Fast and easy." Her lip plate tipped up slightly.

Prowl's engine revved quietly and he nodded again, lowering his gaze to the table so as not to inadvertently challenge the sniper. "That is a relief, because I calculate a 68.94% probability that this mission _will_ result in my capture."

They stared at him blankly, though the still unknown scout growled lowly in his chassis. Hound seemed unnerved, glancing at Smokescreen before refocusing on Prowl.

It was Springer, however, who finally broke the uneasy silence, staring at Prowl. "And you'd be okay… with that?"

Prowl looked at Springer for a moment and then averted his gaze back to the holographic display, the feeling of _wrongness_ washing over him again just before his tactical computer was able to supply the answer to what was bothering him. The location on the map was _not_ one he had identified in his analysis. And he knew Autobot intelligence was thorough enough not to need _his_ participation in a mission like this. There had to be more to this.

"I will fulfill my assignment to the best of my abilities, regardless of my personal feelings on the matter." He murmured softly, then his doorwings went absolutely stiff to keep them from moving at all as realization struck him between the doorwings. _/Smokescreen?/_

To his surprise, the other tactician answered his transmission even as he continued the briefing verbally. _/Did you figure it out?/_

_/You are using me to draw out the traitor in the Autobot ranks./_ It was more of a statement than a question, though it was asked with almost perfect neutrality. Outwardly, Prowl did not give anything away, appearing to give nothing but polite attention to what Smokescreen was saying.

_/Yes./_ The answer was blunt, unapologetic and almost challenging.

Prowl considered this for a long moment, the picture of what this mission would truly mean for him taking shape in his spinning processors. It was not pleasant, but he knew he did not have a way out of it and thus strove to accept that fate. He kept his transmission carefully passive. _/Then I must correct my previous estimate. There is a 99.26% probability I will be captured./_

_/Yes./_ It was delivered in the same manner as the previous answer.

Prowl flicked his optics to his former apprentice, recalling what Moonracer had said. _/This is a suicide mission, then?/_

_/Hardly./_ Smokescreen sounded almost insulted, though not truly troubled. _/That is why Hound, Springer and Moonracer are going. They will get you out of the 'Con's hands. See, there is currently no known 'Con activity in this area. Only those in this room know where you are going so…/_ Prowl could almost hear the smirk in the other mech's words near the end of that last sentence.

_/If the Decepticons are there, we know someone on this team tipped them off./_ Prowl made the obvious conclusion.

Smokescreen continued the briefing, though he transmitted the equivalent of an agreeing nod. _/If you __**are**__ captured and they know __**who**__ you are, then we know it isn't a coincidence./_

Prowl considered all of this then digitally indicated the black and white scout he did not know personally. _/Is he your suspect, then?/_

Smokescreen's optics darted to him in quiet surprise, then Prowl felt a rueful acknowledgement in the other tactician's response. _/His designation is Barricade. The answer to your question is; yes, that is what we suspect./_

_/And Moonracer?/_ Prowl asked cautiously.

_/Insurance. Just in case./_ Smokescreen sounded slightly challenging which almost caused a shiver to work down Prowl's spinal struts.

His former apprentice's tone made Prowl's doorwings twitch slightly. _/For me or for Barricade?/_

Those crystal blue optics flashed briefly toward him even though Smokescreen never deviated from his verbal delivery. _/Whichever one is necessary./_

Prowl sucked in a draft of air at the dangerous warning. Smokescreen did not trust him, did not like him and apparently could not care whether or not he made it back from this mission alive. It seemed that as far as Smokescreen was concerned, he was expendable.

But sending him out on a mission just to have him killed was a waste of resources he did not believe Smokescreen would indulge in, even for a personal vendetta. He wanted to make sure, carefully pitching his digital voice to be free of overt objection. _/Her job is to take one or both of us out. A last resort?/ _

Smokescreen looked mildly startled at the worried note in Prowl's voice, which he could not completely contain. When he finally responded some of the antipathy had abated. _/Always./ _There was a pause. _/As much as I'm still angry with you, I wouldn't send you into this situation just for spite./_

Prowl relaxed slightly at that reassurance and then redirected his processor to other practical aspects of the upcoming assignment. _/What __**are**__ your predictions that I survive this mission?/_

His former apprentice flicked his optics back to him briefly and then they darted away as Smokescreen answered. _/82.10%. 98.20% for the others on the team./_

Prowl considered that and then with a nearly silent sigh of air through his vents, he transmitted the equivalent of a acquiescent nod and let the communication line drop, wishing now he had taken more time to say his farewells to Bluestreak. The worried, almost haunted, look in the youngling's optics floating through his processors again.

After nearly a breem, he received an almost hesitent comm. from Smokescreen. _/No objections?/_

Prowl nearly snorted air through his vents except that he knew the importance of keeping their conversation absolutely private. _/Based on my survival chances? No./_

Smokescreen's response was borderline defensive. _/But you __**do**__ have objections./_

It was almost as much an order to come clean, as it was the petulant whine of a frustrated student and Prowl hesitated. Smokescreen outranked him here and was clearly hostile toward him, even if only a little. Thus he was careful to keep his transmission neutral and non-challenging. _/I do not see how this plan will bring out the traitor./_

Smokescreen relaxed. _/You have to know the mech in question. He will want __**you**__ to know he was the one to hand you back to Megatron. If he's the one./_

_/Ah. I see./_

There were a hundred other things he wanted to say but knew it was not his place. And he had already made the decision not to make things harder on Smokescreen than necessary. Smokescreen said he would not so blatantly risk his life just for spite and, despite everything, Prowl wanted to believe that promise. Regardless, he had already promised to assist the Autobots wherever he was wanted. He had not specified that task only be accomplished in the safety of their tactical command.

_/You are not comfortable with the mission./_ It was a bland observation which Prowl did not bother to deny.

_/I will fulfill my assignment to the best of my abilities./ _Prowl repeated the statement he had given Springer.

Smokescreen was a long moment in answering and when he finally did, it was not quite as hostile. In fact, it was _almost_ sympathetic. _/I'm sure you will./_

The briefing was concluded shortly after that and they made their way to collect the supplies they would need for the trip as well as their energon rations. Ironhide went with them while Smokescreen remained on the command level.

A large black hand touched Prowl's arm and then released him, gesturing for him to fall back. Obediently, Prowl fell into step with the weapon's specialist. He was aware that the larger Autobot was evaluating him carefully. Then Ironhide spoke, his voice so quiet only Prowl could hear.

"You are aware of what this mission will likely require of you?"

Prowl nodded, his voice equally as quiet and free of inflection. "Yes."

"This is a big risk we take." Ironhide said softly, his voice intense and pointed. "You will be in the perfect position to betray us for your own survival."

Casting his escort a sidelong glance Prowl let his engine rev slightly in response to the understated challenge. "That is not an option."

Ironhide released a short huff of air. "For your sake, I hope not. Moonracer won't hesitate. Just know that if something should happen… We will continue to care for Bluestreak. He will not be without caring guardians."

Suddenly Prowl realized his steps did not feel quiet as heavy. He looked at Ironhide and then bowed his helm formally. "That is all I ask."

Ironhide harrumphed but he did not press the issue. At the doors to central supply, he started to walk away, then stopped, looking back at him appraisingly. _/Good luck, Prowl./_

Then the black weapons specialist spun around and was gone, leaving Prowl staring after him in a mild amount of shock… and the sickening feeling in his tanks that he would need all the luck he could get in the upcoming orns.

… … …

They arrived at the coordinates they had been given during the briefing two orns after their departure and, sure enough, there was a Decepticon installation present. But it was not the carefully hidden safe house Prowl and Ironhide had discovered, rather it was more like the temporary camp he and Hound had stumbled across, only much smaller and _much_ more recently constructed. Prowl felt the dread in his tanks grow knowing now what his immediate future would undoubtedly hold. He knew what Decepticons did to their prisoners. And he knew what they did to traitors.

"Something doesn't feel right about this." Hound said softly from his crouched position behind an outcropping of metal.

Prowl said nothing, hardly moving as the olive-green mech quickly directed the rest of the team into concealed positions. He kept his gaze on the camp below, carefully reinforcing his firewalls, switching off pain relays and girding himself for the task that lay ahead. Once positioned, all attention focused back on Prowl and his engine revved lightly in response.

Moonracer glared at him with open suspicion as if knowing it was just a matter of time till he tried to turn on them. Springer just looked unhappy and tense. Hound stepped close to him, his expression and tone openly worried. "Ready?"

Prowl nodded stiffly and concentrated just long enough to darken his optics. Then he straightened, assuming an almost haughty pose. Hound shifted uneasily shivering. He stepped back slightly. "That's creepy."

"Shall we proceed?" Prowl asked with a calm he did not feel.

Silently, Hound gestured him toward the Decepticon camp. Prowl had only taken one step when Barricade stood from his semi-crouched, hidden position. "Wait."

All attention focused on the other black and white mech. Barricade stepped toward them, shooting Prowl a dark look. "I will go with him."

"That was not in the original plan…" Hound protested but Barricade waved him away.

"This is better. This way he will have back up if needed and… I can take care of him if I have to." He sneered slightly at Prowl. "He shouldn't be allowed to get that close by himself. He can't be trusted."

Hound stiffened. "He won't go back to them."

"We can't take that risk." Barricade appeared thoughtful. "We can pretend I am his prisoner."

Hound did not seem convinced, though Springer and Moonracer appeared to like the idea. He glanced at Prowl in silent question, it was an offer he never would have expected. Prowl was staring at the mech he now _knew_ to be a traitor and considered the available options. If Barricade went with him, he would surely be turned over to the Decepticons. If Barricade remained with the others, it was likely he would betray all of them in his effort to trap Prowl and they would all be captured. It could still happen that way of course, but it would be safer for everyone else if Barricade was as far away from them as possible when the betrayal happened.

Meeting Hound's optics, Prowl nodded ever so slightly.

For a moment the scout looked as if he was going to object further, then he nodded, letting Prowl make that call. "Good luck to both of you, then."

Barricade smirked at Prowl as he walked past and the tactician restrained any reaction he wanted to have and turned to follow.

He waited till they were out of audio range from the scouts waiting for them then addressed Barricade blandly. "If you are going as my prisoner, should you not be in stasis cuffs?"

Barricade sneered at him. "Let myself be stasis cuffed by you? Not a chance, pit spawn."

Prowl's engine revved. "Yet you speak of maintaining my cover."

They were now more than three quarters of the way to the base. And Barricade suddenly stopped, spinning to face him. "That won't be a concern. Not for you."

The smile Barricade cast him was unquestionably filled with malice, as was the muzzle of the null-ray now pointed at his spark. The null-ray was outlawed by Autobot regulations because they were considered inappropriately cruel with little tactical advantage that justified the devastation they caused.

Prowl's optics flickered from the weapon up to the mech holding it. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Megatron will reward me very well for delivering you to him. Far more than he has for just being a deep cover agent in the Autobot ranks." Barricade stepped forward, waving the null-ray gun in demonstration. "Now, come with me _quietly_ or I see how much damage one of these can do to a spark chamber at point blank range."

Prowl stiffened, nodding. Even though he walked obediently, his tactical computer was rapidly trying to determine how to extract himself from this situation. And, more importantly, how to do so without compromising the others. Then, with sudden clarity, Prowl realized that no, escape was not his primary goal. Not yet. The whole point of this mission was to uncover the traitor.

That meant he had a duty to make sure the others were made aware of Barricade's duplicity. Yet he doubted his word alone would be believed. At first he could think of nothing he could do, until his recent encounter with Hound – or rather a very specific part of that encounter – replayed in his memory files.

"_You were an enforcer… before the war?" He had asked as the energy from the stasis cuffs bit into his arms._

"_From Tyger Pax. Street patrol." Had been hound's guarded, yet highly informative reply._

If Hound was former street patrol, it was possible that was exactly what he needed.

Careful not to give any of his thoughts away to Barricade, Prowl initiated his comm. system, keeping it to the lowest wavelength possible to avoid the traitor detecting it. _/Prowl to Hound./_

Hound was a moment in answering, concern evident. _/What is it, Prowl?/_

Prowl wasted no time, seeing the perimeter of the Decepticon camp clearly now. _/As former street patrol, did you have the modifications to allow direct communications through a linked system?/_

_/You mean linking our auditory systems so that I hear what you hear?/_ Hound sounded somewhat taken aback.

_/Yes./_

_/Why?/_ Hound asked with a sudden note of suspicion.

_/I believe you and the others will want to hear what is about to transpire./_ With that, Prowl forcibly subdued any instinctive need to protect himself or his privacy and transmitted the uplink codes to his communications system, keeping them open wide.

… … …

Hound could not stop his engines from stuttering in surprise as audio data suddenly flooded his system. He cleared his vents and activated the modifications street patrols used during stake-outs and infiltrations into criminal organizations. It allowed him to fully process both his own auditory input and completely integrate the streaming audio input from another in real time without overlapping the two. He was hearing everything exactly as Prowl was hearing it, to the extent that he could even determine direction and distance as if he were actually in the Praxian's armor.

"Moonracer, Springer… stand by to receive transmission." Hound transmitted them the audio stream in real time even as they watched to two mechs approach the Decepticon camp in the distance. The two others would not have the detail and clarity Hound did in that it would come across more as simply an intercepted comm. signal with no depth.

"_Halt! Prepare to die, autoscum!"_ Some nameless Decepticon sentry snarled at them.

"_You imbecile! You were told to expect me. I will speak to the commander of this camp."_

Moonracer shot Hound a startled look. "That was Barricade."

Hound nodded, grunting, that uneasy feeling he had had coming back full force as the sounds of moving pedes filled their audios. Then another voice broke in.

"_Ah, what have we here?"_

Barricade was the one who answered. _"Just as I promised, Razor, the traitor, Prowl. Lord Megatron will be pleased to get him back."_

"_Yes."_ The mech identified as Razor murmured quietly and from the sound he was circling Prowl. _"But there is a time and place for everything, Barricade. Let's get what we can out of him first. I doubt Megatron will mind if he gets the mech or just his empty shell."_

The laughter, which came from all sides, sent a shiver down Hound's spinal struts and he wondered how Prowl did not respond in any audible manner. His engines did not even rev. Daring to move to a better vantage point, Hound peered down at the camp, straining his sensors to the utmost, only to see Prowl being forced to his knees by two vicious kicks to his legs.

They heard the muted grunt as Prowl hit the ground, but that was it.

"_You won't be able to go back undercover after this." _The one called Razor mentioned almost lightly.

"_Who cares." _Barricade almost spat, the harsh noise radically different than the mech he had come to know over the last few vorns. _"It will be worth it to be the one to break him."_

"_Indeed. I would claim that right my self, but you have earned first crack at him, I suppose."_ Razor laughed menacingly and the terrifying noise was echoed by the others surrounding Prowl.

"_First things, first." _Barricade intoned. _"He is no longer worthy to wear our Lord Megatron's symbol. Remove it."_

"_With pleasure." _ Some unidentified mech responded.

All of the three watching and listening Autobots winced as the sound of metal striking metal filled their audios as Prowl was viciously attacked. They heard the whine of a saw even as they watched, helpless to stop what was happening, as the metal plating that had boasted the purple Decepticon brand was cut and pried away. Hound could not help cringing at the sound of tearing and prying, knowing what it was; unable to do anything but watch it happen.

They heard Prowl's gasps, his quiet grunts and the angry rev of his engine, as first one shoulder guard and then the other were alternatingly cut, pried and then ultimately torn free of his frame.

When they were finished Prowl was on his knees, sparks leaping from frayed wires and energron dripping from the mangled lines and plating. Yet the Praxian remained stubbornly silent, even though he curled inward in agony. Even so, the weakness did not last long.

Hound felt his spark stutter as he watched Prowl straighten, staring up at the Decepticon. His voice was filled with steely determination. _"If you think you will gain anything useful from me, you are wrong."_

"_You misunderstand me, traitor. I don't __**care**__ if you have any information of value. All I care about is that you suffer for your betrayal." _The one called Razor spit derisively._ "If it so happens you spill something useful, it only makes it better."_

"Can't you do something, Moonracer?" Hound asked tightly.

"There are too many of them." Moonracer's response was equally stressed. "I start shooting them and they will kill him for sure. And I don't have a good line of sight on Barricade."

"_Take him."_ Razor's order was sharp and quickly obeyed.

Prowl was forced all the way to the ground as first his weapons and then his subspace controls were cut, the armor covering the controls forcibly pried away. Then the communication line connecting the Praxian to the three Autobots was also disabled in a sudden squeal of pained static.

The sudden silence was disconcerting in itself and felt like a horrifying portend of what was coming.

Hound realized with instant clarity how Prowl must have felt on their last mission together as, much to far away for him to stop it from happening, Prowl was hauled to his pedes and taken into one of the temporary structures making up the camp.

"Barricade." Springer whispered bitterly. "How could we have missed that?"

Hound shook his helm, feeling his spark clench, as he lowered his gaze to the uneven ground beneath him. And then his engine revved loudly as he realized something. He straightened, looking at the others. "Prowl didn't. He _knew_. It was the only reason he would have initiated that comm. link."

Springer looked at him and blinked. "You mean… Prowl knew it was a set up? You think he knew Barricade was a spy all along?"

Hound considered that, remembering the slight nod Prowl had given him when Barricade had demanded to go to the Decepticon camp and realized that Prowl had known even then. Possibly even earlier. He seemed to be scary good like that. "I think it is a very real possibility. And he went anyway. What was he thinking?"

Even as he asked the question, Hound knew… or at least thought he knew. Prowl must not have believed he would have been believed he had pointed a digit at Barricade. And the thing of it was, Hound knew that was exactly how it would have been. How cliché would it have been for a defector to point the finger of betrayal at a trusted member of the team? Even he would not have trusted such a claim from Prowl.

And that conclusion made Hound wonder if there had been yet another reason Prowl had voluntarily walked into enemy hands in the company of a traitor if he had known that mech would betray him. Of course, there was a reason.

Hound looked at the remaining two members of his team and felt his frame tense, his gaze shooting back to the Decepticon camp as determination and resolve suddenly stiffened his own struts. "We've gotta get him out of there. If _they_ think he's a traitor, that means he is at least on our side. And we all know what 'Con's do to traitors. No one deserves that."

Springer nodded sharply, still looking somewhat surprised and slightly taken aback.

Moonracer was slower to agree. She looked between the two of them. "He is just a 'Con defector. Is it really worth the risk?"

Hound gave her an unyielding look. "He thought _I _was worth the risk when our positions were reversed. I'm going to go in. If you aren't willing to do so, stay here. Both of you."

Springer shook his helm. "I'm going. You're right. Even a mech like Prowl doesn't deserve what they're likely to do to him. I may not like him, but I'll do what is right."

Moonracer growled lowly. "I'm not doing it for him; Prowl can go rot in the pit for all I care. But I'll back you two up."

Hound nodded, knowing that was the best he would get, and turned back to the Decepticon camp. They would have to wait until the cover of night. Unfortunately that was still several joors away. He could only pray that Prowl could withstand whatever they did to him until that time.

… … …

Prowl floated in a sea of agony even though almost all of his pain sensors were deactivated. The pain flared through his pressure grid and was an unrelenting, pounding force that at least served as an anchor to which he could cling to keep himself online. As much as he wanted to surrender to the beckoning darkness of stasis, he knew it would be his death if he did so because it would leave his processor with precious little to defend against the mech now trying to tear his firewalls apart.

Barricade had already tried to get through his mental defenses and the effort had landed the traitor in the med bay with a fragmented processor. Not that Prowl had had much time to revel in that minor victory. Razor had decided to try softening him up physically before having a truly nasty mech from Decepticon special operations, designated as Slipshod, try again.

In agonizing compliment of the torment that graced his frame and ripped into his shredded doorwings, digital daggers stabbed repeatedly into his processors, incessantly trying to weaken his firewalls. The pressure against his defenses built to excruciating levels and, too exhausted physically to react externally, Prowl nevertheless determinedly kept his attacker at bay.

The physical beating he had sustained ensured he was unable to muster the strength to digitally _attack_ the one hacking him, but he had not yet been pushed to the point where his mental strength was in true danger of collapsing. Not yet. But he was loosing energon at an alarming rate through the various wounds he had been given

With a furious snarl, Slipshod pulled back slightly only to release one of the hands he had dug into the plating on Prowl's chassis and un-sheath yet another another energon dagger, igniting the small sliver of metal.

"You. Will. Break." With a flick of his hand the blade joined the handful of other such weapons imbedded in his doorwings.

Prowl gritted his denta, unable to move at all against the stasis field holding him at the Decepticon's mercy. But he did not scream. He would not give Slipshod that satisfaction.

Then suddenly the invading mind was ripped out his; the clawed hands digging deep gouges into his armor, torn free of his frame. The pain that action caused was covered by the blessed coolness of relief as his mind was again his alone. Vaguely hearing a muffled gurgle from where Slipshod had been standing over him, Prowl on-lined his optics.

Immobilized as he was on his back however, he could see nothing but the harsh light recessed into the ceiling to give the interrogators a clear view of their victim. He drew in a ragged draft of air and hastily used the unexpected reprieve to bolster his mental defenses for another inevitable attack.

Then a shadow fell over him as a new mech leaned close. But the optics that stared down at him were a bright sapphire, not ruby. Prowl blinked, trying to make sense of this unexpected development.

Then the mech smiled. "Thank Primus, you're alive!"

Prowl blinked again, true relief mingling with surprise and disbelief, making him feel light-headed. His engine coughed weakly on leaking fluids. "Hound? You came."

The olive-green scout nodded, then grimaced as he looked him over. Then Hound busily started prying the restraints free, deactivating the stasis field generators as he went. "Of course. You're one of us now. Well… almost. And I know what Decepticons do to their prisoners."

Once he was released, Hound helped him sit up on what was apparently a berth of some kind. "Thank you."

Hound grimaced, looking somewhat embarrassed. "We aren't out yet."

As if to punctuate that statement, Springer's voice came from the corridor just outside. "More are on the way. Move it."

"Can you walk?" Hound asked with concern.

"No choice." Prowl managed to bite out as mangled struts in his right leg almost buckled under his weight when he tried to stand. The left leg was little better. "I will be unable to transform, however."

Hound nodded and wordlessly slipped under one arm, taking his weight and easing the burden imposed on the most injured extremity. Together, they made their way into the corridor. Even though Prowl had no idea what his physical appearance looked like, Springer's reaction gave him a fair idea.

The mech's optics widened in horror and it was a long astrosecond before he could move again. "Slagging butchers!" Then he was darting forward to take Prowl's other arm.

In this manner the trio made their way out of the building. As they neared the camp perimeter angry shouts and weapons fire finally caught up with them. They ducked reflexively as angry orange plasma arced over their heads and Hound hissed as he was grazed by enemy shots. Then more energy was lighting the night air, though it was coming from ahead of them. The pinpoint accuracy of the incoming yellow-hot plasma forced their pursuers to fall back. Moonracer.

Their retreat continued for half a joor until they reached a somewhat secluded, abandoned culvert that could provide some minor cover from aerial surveillance. Hound and Springer lowered him to the ground with remarkable gentleness and Springer immediately went to work.

"Primus, Prowl." The mech murmured as he evaluated the damages Prowl's Decepticon interrogators had managed to inflict. "How are you even online?"

"I have no choice." Prowl managed to grind out as Springer's attempt to remove one of the energon daggers still imbedded in his doorwings caused a sharp feedback of pain signals. He flicked it back, out of Springer's reach, despite the light-headedness that motion caused. "Ignore the doorwings. Only do what you have to so that I can move on my own power. We have to get out of here."

Springer stilled, staring at him. "But… the pain…"

Prowl shook his head. "The Decepticons will follow us. We have maybe seven breems before they find us. I will _not_ be responsible for the rest of you getting damaged or killed. My legs now, the doorwings can wait…. Please."

Springer stared at him for a long moment, clearly seeing the unspoken agony within the Praxian's amber gaze. Springer was not a true medic, a field medical technician perhaps, but not nearly on a par with even the most junior medic working for Ratchet. But he knew enough to know that injuries such as the ones those doorwings had sustained, with at least half a dozen blades imbedded in them had to be excruciating. It said a great deal about Prowl that he was even online. It said even more that he was lucid let alone able to speak with anything resembling _courtesy_ at the moment, not to mention that his apparent primary concern was the safety of his rescuers not his own pain relief.

Then Springer came back to himself and nodded, leaving the sensitive extremities to work on the mangled struts and motor control wires in Prowl's damaged legs. He worked quickly, applying the temporary plating where necessary as well as welding splints to his shattered weight-baring struts. Then, with another quick scan, he hastily cauterized the largest of the energon leaks.

"I can take your doorwings off." Springer offered quietly. "That should at least reduce the feedback of the pain and pressure signals."

Prowl considered that. "How long will that take?"

Springer blinked. "Done gently? Roughly a breem a piece. That is, if I disconnect all the pain and pressure relays before removing them. But I can physically have them both off within half a breem if I just… take them off."

Prowl studied him for a moment longer then nodded. He needed to be able to think clearly and knew that would be a problem so long as he had to deal with the continued torture of the weapons imbedded within the sensitive panels. "Then take them off quickly. We have only just over a breem before our position will be compromised."

"Moonracer is keeping a look out." Hound interjected then, sounding slightly numb. "We won't be ambushed in here at least."

"Are you sure?" Springer asked him, ignoring Hound. "It will hurt like the pit."

"They already hurt like the pit. It is not my preference, but we have little choice." Prowl hesitated for a moment then slid aside a control panel on his neck. "I recommend immobilizing my whole frame first, for both of our safety."

Springer hesitated, glancing at the open control panel and then nodded, reaching for it.

Then Prowl's entire frame froze, motor relays temporarily disconnected. Prowl had little time to be disconcerted by the intense vulnerability such total immobility generated, especially with his recent treatment by the Decepticons, before Moonracer's voice broke in over an open comm. line.

_/Decepticons approaching. Ten of them. I'd estimate only a breem out at most./_

"Slag." Springer spit out the word, then a remarkably gentle hand was pressed between Prowl's doorwings. "I'm sorry."

Intense, blinding agony suddenly ripped through his back, followed immediately by another wave of sheer, raw fire and he cried out involuntarily. Then it faded swiftly to a dull, aching throb as the abused pressure grid suddenly had nothing sending it painful stimuli. It was relief that was hard won, but well welcomed

He was panting air through heaving vents as his frame was remobilized and Springer stepped around to face him, anxiety written openly on his faceplate.

"I've subspaced your doorwings. I'll give them to Ratchet when we get back."

Prowl nodded. He would have preferred to keep them himself, but decided it was not worth arguing the point. Not at the moment and not with the mech who would be seeing to any other field repairs he might need before they reached Iacon.

Without having to be asked, Hound and Springer both reached out to help him to his pedes and soon they were moving again.

* * *

_Is this a horrible place to leave it or what? Sorry. Hey, at least I didn't break the chapter while Prowl was still in the Decepticon's hands, right? Let's count our blessings where can. :) Like I said, I will do my best to get the next chapter up as quickly as possible, but don't be too terribly impatient. Please…?_


	19. Retaliation

The journey back to Iacon would have been faster had Prowl been able to transform. However, with two missing doorwings and the extensive damage to major support structures in his frame it would have been a very, very bad idea for him to transform into his alt mode. Thus he forced himself to limp along as quickly as he possibly could, following Springer who had taken point. Moonracer covered their retreat and that left Hound to pace him, often acting as a physical support.

"We can stop if you need to." Hound murmured softly for the sixth time.

They had been traveling for over half an orn now but Prowl shook his helm. "Our progress is already slower than is preferable. We cannot take that risk. Our pursuers are not restrained to their base mode."

His words ended in a hiss as a bad step jarred the damaged gears in his leg and hip joints. But just as he had for the entire trip, he never complained about his discomfort.

As if in answer to Hound's silent prayers, Springer called out from several hundred meters ahead of them. "There is an old waystation up here. It looks like it's been abandoned for vorns, but at least it will get us out of the open."

"It is to obvious a resting place…" Prowl started to protest but Hound shook his helm, cutting the tactician off.

"We are going to take a break so that Springer can work on you some more." He shook his helm again when Prowl opened his mouth to object. "It will be better for all of us if he is able to stabilize you further and you are able to move better. That is my decision."

Prowl looked at him for a moment and then lowered his gaze. "Yes, sir."

Once inside the abandoned structure, with Moonracer opting to stand watch outside rather than be in such tight quarters with Prowl, the Praxian was settled onto the ground and Springer knelt beside him.

Hound stepped out to check on Moonracer as Springer started his work.

"Someone needs to keep an optic out." She murmured quietly before he could say anything, not even looking at him.

Hound nodded, taking a step toward her. "I know. But it does not always have to be you."

"Better I'm out here than in there with… him." The words were almost bitter but held just a touch too much tremble to be completely motivated by hatred.

Hound said nothing, he simply stepped forward; his silent presence an invitation to listen.

Moonracer remained stubbornly silent for a long moment and then released a vent of air. "How can you like him so much? I mean… you know what he is. Why would you so willingly risk your spark for a mech like that?"

"I know what he _was._" Hound corrected gently. "What he is now… I don't know. But I've learned to respect him. He saved my life at the risk of his own, even after I did not treat him very well." Hound shrugged. "Perhaps I just owed him."

She canted him a look and then shook her helm. "No. You see more in him than I do." She lowered her gaze. "And I'm not really sure I _want_ to see what you are seeing."

"Why not?" Hound asked, looking at her closely. In the fading light of the orn, he could just barely see the slight tremble in her frame.

"I didn't want to fight. Never did." She said after a long moment, almost wistfully. "I was happy as a neutral… until the Decepticons started targeting us just for fun." She cast a significant, accusatory look back toward the building. "But they started targeting Femmes about the same time they started targeting Sparklings. I knew at that point neutrality was no longer a choice."

Hound made an understanding noise but said nothing. After a long moment Moonracer released a vent of air. "I just find it hard to want to _help,_ let alone trust, the mech who was responsible for all that."

"Moonracer…"

She turned a suddenly heated glare at him. "Don't. I'm not a youngling anymore." Her vents hitched slightly and she looked away. "War doesn't allow for younglings."

Hound felt his spark ache as he looked at her and saw the pain, the fear, that underlie those words. He did not know a lot about Moonracer only that she was young, beautiful and deadly with her rifle. Even so, he had no doubt that she was not open to further conversation at the moment.

"Alright." He said softly. "If you want relief for a few breems, let me know."

Her stance relaxed slightly and she flashed him a stunningly sweet, relieved smile. "Thanks Hound. I'm going to run a perimeter check."

He returned her smile and then ducked back into the building. He found Springer hard at work trying to re-splint one of the damaged struts in Prowl's right leg. It had to be hurting, but the Praxian looked chagrined rather than pained. The expression startled Hound for a moment until he understood where it came from.

"You heard." It was a statement more than a question.

"I did not mean to." Was Prowl's soft reply.

Hound considered him for a moment, then decided to ask his question anyway. "Was she right? Should she be wary of you?"

Amber optics flicked up to meet his. "I specifically recommended against the intentional targeting of sparklings and neutrals. A fact Jazz and Ratchet can confirm." He added with a sigh of air through his vents. "In her place however, I doubt I would feel differently."

Hound nodded, willing to accept that answer on face value, at least until it was proven false. "What about this mission? Did you know what was going to happen?"

Prowl was a long moment in answering. A _very_ long moment, and Hound thought he saw a silent struggle within the Praxian. It prompted him to add a tacked on, almost clipped command. "I would appreciate you speak with complete honesty, Prowl."

Prowl winced slightly, though whether it was at the implied mistrust or at being caught deciding whether to shade the truth – or perhaps even from something Springer did – Hound did not know. The tactician's answer was even. "The exact details? No. However, I did know Barricade was suspected of being a traitor and that my capture was an attempt to trap him."

"You knew what they would do to you when they caught you?" Springer asked suddenly with a touch of incredulity.

"Again, not entirely, but I knew enough to expect nothing less than what transpired."

They looked at him in almost blank horror. Hound found his voice first. "And why did you agree to do it."

Now Prowl looked away, though it appeared to be more from internal discomfort than submission. "It was a task I was assigned to do."

Hound stared at that, the answer making little since to him. He doubted he would have done what Prowl had done, endured what he had endured, just because it was an assignment he had been given. Unless, perhaps, it came from Primus himself… maybe. He glance at Springer and the two shared a look that made it clear they were on the same datapad on that matter.

Hound opened his mouth to try and find an appropriate response when suddenly Moonracer stepped in, her vents heaving. "They've found us. They'll be here in at least ten breems."

Hound cursed quietly. "I've called for back up, but they are at least a joor away."

Moonracer growled lowly, though Hound saw a tiny shiver race through her frame. "I don't know why they found us so quickly. Unless…" Her optics zeroed in on Prowl. "Does he have a tracker on him?"

Hound started to reject the idea off hand, but Prowl spoke before he could. "I do. But it is one Ratchet installed."

They stared at him for a moment, that was a humiliating thing to admit. Then Springer huffed air. "I guess it is possible they might have hacked the signal if they found it. But there is no reason for them to do so unless they thought you were going to escape."

"I doubt they worried about that." Hound said quietly, remembering the condition in which he had found the Praxian.

Moonracer snarled. "Doesn't matter. We should take it off and destroy it. Ratchet can just put a new one on. If they're using it, the disappearance of the signal might at least throw them off or make them hesitate."

Springer drew back slightly, shaking his helm. "I don't have the mods to crack a weld seam. I couldn't get it off."

"_Cut_ it off." Moonracer insisted.

Hound considered the situation for a moment then looked at former Decepticon. "Prowl?"

Prowl released a vent. "The probability that they are hacking Ratchet's tracker is only roughly 18.31% because I do not believe they ever found its location. If, however they are, there is only a 32.11% probability that removing the device will significantly impact the outcome of the coming confrontation. They will still have the last known location of the beacon and there is no other place we could reach within the given timeframe that is as easily defended as this waystation. To be caught out in the open would be suicide, there is a chance to hold this building until rescue arrives if it is done effectively." Prowl paused. "That said, it would not _hurt_ our survival chances to have it removed. The call is yours, Hound."

Hound felt slightly unstable on his pedes as he met Prowl's optics. He processed the analysis Prowl had given. Even he could tell that forcible removal of the tracking device would mostly be a psychological comfort measure rather than a significant tactical advantage. Prowl, for sure, had to know that. And yet he left the decision in Hound's hand, even though it was his frame that would be damaged with its removal. And Hound knew without doubt that if he _did_ decide to tell Springer to remove it, Prowl would not even complain about the added discomfort.

Hound was tempted, just because of the psychological comfort factor it would provide, but he just could not bring himself to do so. Instead he shook his helm. "You said there is a way we might be able to hold our position until help arrives?"

Prowl nodded, and looked back at Moonracer. "How many of them are there?"

Moonracer was staring. "At least thirteen. They've broken into two groups and are boxing us in." She transmitted the information to all three mechs then looked at Hound pointing to Prowl. "I do not want to die for _him._"

Springer released a stream of air that whistled through his vents as he reviewed the data. "They really want you back… thirteen mechs?"

Prowl grimaced. "Indeed." He appeared thoughtful for a brief astrosecond and then his frame tensed again as he looked back up at Hound. "There is a 63.74% probability that you could negotiate safe passage in exchange for delivering me back to them."

Hound could only stare at the Praxian for a long moment, several thoughts slamming through his processor simultaneously: Why would Prowl even suggest that? Had he done something that would make Prowl think he would even consider such a tactic? Did the mech have a suicide wish?

When he opened his mouth to bluntly refuse the suggestion, the first question came out instead. "Why would you suggest we do that?"

Prowl glanced down and Hound might have thought he was embarrassed except there was nothing obviously indicating that in his mien. "I am a tactician. My function is to provide all possible options and then to provide the best available way to carry out the chosen option."

Hound exchanged a surprised glance with Springer but a glance at Moonracer showed the lighter green femme was staring fixedly at the Praxian. Hound looked back at the former Decepticon and suspected that he would fulfill that stated function even if the option he chose was to hand him back to the Decepticons.

He shook his helm "Well, giving you back to them is _not_ an option. How do you propose we hold this position?"

Springer looked nervously between the Praxian and the olive-green scout. Moonracer stiffened visibly. Prowl's optics unfocused for a brief moment and then refocused on Hound. "In this case, I recommend the following defensive strategy as it has the highest calculated possibility of success and survival."

He transmitted the plan, which consisted of two concentric lines of defense. It placed Moonracer on the roof to utilize her skills to form the outermost defense perimeter, concentrated on the larger group of Decepticons. Prowl would station himself somewhere where he would not be a liability, but would be able to help where he could. Hound and Springer would provide the majority of the heavy fighting power.

Hound processed the plan and then met Prowl's gaze for a long moment. As a former enforcer, he had worked with tacticians in the field before and he knew there was more to it than just providing a plan and watching it happen. Things happened in combat that could call for instantaneous changes in tactics.

Prowl's expression was intense and sincere, but also respectful. Prowl was not challenging his command, he was simply performing his function. Hound nodded slowly. "Yes." He hesitated again. "Will you be able to observe enough of the battle to make any further recommendations as the situation changes?"

Prowl's optics flickered at the question and he straightened ever so slightly. When he spoke it was careful, measuring. "With my doorwings gone, it is unlikely. I would need a direct sensory feed with at least one of you, preferably with all of you."

Hound continued to meet Prowl's gaze and weighed his options. Had the former Decepticon proven himself worthy of such an act? Then he remembered Prowl opening that direct communication line to him. This was not much different. Making his decision, Hound nodded and transmitted his sensory uplink codes to Prowl. "Here."

Springer blinked and Moonracer recoiled slightly. Then Springer narrowed his optics at Hound. "You trust him that much?"

Hound hesitated then looked at the other scout. "If we're going to make it till our back up arrives, it will be because of him."

Prowl's optics widened slightly at the confidence implied in that statement but Springer only huffed air. Then he too looked at Prowl and nodded. "I guess a slim chance is better than no chance. I hope I don't regret this."

All three mechs looked at Moonracer and she stepped back again, then her expression grew darker. She narrowed her optics at Prowl. "I would have killed you in a sparkbeat if I thought you had betrayed us."

Prowl only nodded, eerily calm. "Of that I have no doubt."

She stepped forward, hands clenching into fists at her side. "I still would."

Prowl indicated his seemingly easy acceptance of that statement. "Acknowledged."

She huffed again and then shook her helm. "I still don't trust you. I don't have much of a choice right now, not if I want to make it out of this alive. Just know I _will_ be changing the codes once the battle is over."

Prowl dipped his helm. "I shall delete the codes as well. All of them. Ratchet or Jazz may be impressed upon to confirm their deletion if you wish."

Moonracer considered the Praxian for a moment longer and then nodded sharply, transmitting her codes. "I will, count on it."

… … …

Prowl waited, concealed in a location where he could provide cover fire for Hound. Above them on the roof, Moonracer would cover Springer when the fighting closed to that distance. Springer had had to jury-rig his weapon systems because the Decepticons had done a remarkably thorough job in disabling them. He was unable to configure his hand to interface with the weapon and so Springer had to bypass the manual control and link it directly to his control systems. It was not ideal, but it was the best he had

Through his sensor link with Moonracer he knew the moment the first Decepticon was in range and watched the unlucky mech's frame buck into the air as Moonracer's round struck home.

As expected, the strike immediately caused the others in that group to slow and scatter. Prowl quickly analyzed the likely abilities of the mechs in question and then sent Moonracer a quick ping. _/Make sure you take out one of the two smaller ones./_

_/Why?/_ She growled, even as she fired at one of them.

The way the uninjured one fell to the ground as well, with an enraged and tortured snarl was answer enough. Through Hound's highly acute sensor array he also saw one of the larger mechs in the second group of Decepticons also collapse.

_/Combiner./_ He sent to all of them by way of explanation.

They had already evened the odds by four. However, the Decepticons had already recovered from their initial surprise and had put on a burst of speed. Not unexpected. Moonracer's rifle illuminated the night again and another mech was thrown to the side as her aim proved true. Unfortunately, his armor proved substantial enough he was not taken out. Even so, another shot felled him.

Two of the mechs approaching Hound had a similar frame type, meaning potentially the same heavy armor. _/Hound, the two on the outside of their formation have above average armor strength. They are the priority target./_

Hound signaled his understanding.

He sent another, simultaneous message to Moonracer, highlighting a specific mech. _/This will also be a heavily armored mech./_

_/Acknowledged./_

Within seconds, that mech was also reduced to a pile of scrap. Distantly Prowl had a moment to admire Moonracer's exceptional skill. She had not been boasting when she had told him 'one shot, one kill.' But he hardly had time to dwell on that thought before the surviving Decepticons were close enough to transform. They came in hot, weapons drawn and blazing with hot energy.

Another mech was dropped by Moonracer before his transformation sequence even completed. Seven down, six to go.

Hound was already engaging the first Decepticon to reach his position. Prowl sighted through his rifle and fired at the second mech approaching Hound. The Decepticon screamed as acid ate through his armor. Another volley had him dropping to the ground permanently.

Prowl caught something through his link with Springer and signaled the scout even as he sighted on his next target. _/Springer, two are trying to come up on your rear./_

_/Oh, no they don't./_ Moonracer snarled over the comm. channel as she downed one of them. Unfortunately the other one made it to Springer and leapt at him from behind.

Only Springer had heeded the warning and spun to face him.

Prowl fired his own weapon then, striking another Decepticon in a bath of acid pellets. The black mech howled but the sound cut off abruptly as the acid ate away his vocalizer. Another shot finished the job.

Then another blip on one of the Autobot's sensors caught Prowl's attention. _/Three more Decepticon signals only two breems out._/ He alerted the others to the new threats even as Moonracer felled another enemy mech.

_/Fragging pitspawn!/_ Springer snarled in response to the update.

Hound was struggling with the much larger Decepticon attacking him and Springer was now engaged in a close quarters battle of his own and was taking a heavy pounding. But the three mechs were to close for Moonracer to risk a shot in the melee of swirling metal

_/Hound, fall back, get distance between you and this one and go help Springer. I'll take this one./_

To his credit, Hound did not question him. He managed to get a kick in that pushed the two of them apart and then he darted away. Prowl fired before the Decepticon could follow and the mech fell to the ground with a gurgle only an astrosecond later.

On someone's scanners the three new mechs were now being joined by five others from a slightly different heading. But Hound managed to help Springer defeat the two that were left of the original group.

Prowl quickly evaluated the limited amount of data he had on the new Decepticons and then the status of the three Autobots. Moonracer was undamaged but both Hound and Springer had suffered minor wounds; nothing more than a few deep dents.

Without giving them any time to enjoy their victory, Prowl redirected them to the best positions to meet the new threat.

_/How far away is our back up again?/_ Springer asked Hound anxiously.

_/Another fifteen breems./_ Hound replied sullenly.

The new configuration in which he had placed the Autobots left Prowl in a relatively vulnerable situation, but Prowl knew that he would not make it to a better location within the single breem they had left before the second wave struck.

Moonracer managed to pick off the two leading Decepticons before they were close enough to do any harm. However, unlike the first wave – who had wrongly thought that their greater number offered more of an advantage than it had – these mechs immediately transformed and took what cover they could from the landscape around them.

Prowl saw what was happening and immediately told Hound and Springer to seek cover of their own. The two scouts managed to duck behind the building just before the place they had been standing was melted into a pool of slag. Then a firefight erupted in full force. But both sides were two well protected and it could easily turn into a drawn out affair. In which case, simple attrition would favor the Decepticons.

No, this could not be allowed to turn into a siege. All it would take would be for Hound or Springer to take serous damage and they would be overrun.

Not seeing any other choice, Prowl grit his denta against the pain shooting up his legs and made his way carefully toward the new battle. His approach put him closer to the far side of the Decepticon line, though not truly behind it.

_/Maintain your cover. I'm going to give them something else to think about. Moonracer, focus on the mechs to the western tip of their formation./_

Moonracer sent grudging acknowledgement even as Hound sent back a startled. _/Prowl… you can hardly walk./_

_/I can still fire./_ And, so saying, Prowl did so.

A round of acid burned through the mech closest to him and the unfortunate Decepticon did not have a chance to yell a warning before he was falling to the ground. Prowl turned his attention to the next one at the same time Moonracer also opened fire. Struck on the chassis by acid pellets and between the optics by a plasma blast at nearly the same instant, the mech was gone before he knew what had happened.

_/Attack./_ Prowl sent to the Autobot scouts even as the Decepticons reacted to the new threat and Prowl suddenly found himself flying backwards thanks to a plasma blast that struck the ground right in front of him.

He hit the building behind him hard enough it stunned him, jarring the still raw wiring on his back from where his doorwings had been removed. The only thing that kept him from being immediately overwhelmed by the enemy was that Hound and Springer had taken the fight to the Decepticons, charging at them with unrestrained violence.

He tried to stand, but his impact with the wall had done more than just stun him. Some of the temporary splices on energon lines and the emergency welds to some of his struts were broken off.

"Prowl. You disappoint me." Prowl's optics snapped up to see Razor striding toward him and realized that his sensor feed to the others had been damaged as well and only spotty information was making it through the connection.

"I hardly care how much you are disappointed." Prowl bit back, his engine revving as he tried to regain motor control over the arm holding his rifle.

"You think you will get away this easily?" Razor sneered. "Lord Megatron knows you survived now. He will find you, and when he does…"

A hole suddenly appeared in Razor's chassis, followed closely by another and then another, even as Prowl was finally able to lift his own rifle to take a shot. Seeing there was no longer a need, he let the weapon fall back down, watching with careful impassiveness as the dark purple mech toppled over, a look of surprise forever etched onto his faceplate.

"Why do you even listen to creeps like that?" Moonracer demanded, walking toward him, smoke still wafting from the tip of her own weapon.

Not truly sure if he was actually safe from the deadly femme's frighteningly accurate aim, and yet knowing there was nothing he would do to defend himself if she did choose to attack him, Prowl relaxed regardless of the fact it left him at her mercy.

He leaned back against the wall and dipped his helm formally. "Thank you, Moonracer. I owe you my life."

Her lip plate quirked slightly, though it was more of a tremble, like she could not decide whether to smile victoriously, snarl or smirk. She turned away and Prowl released a vent, struggling back to his pedes even as he deleted the sensor uplink codes as he had promised to do.

By the time he was upright, Hound and Springer were walking up. They both looked over him appraisingly. Then they looked around them.

"Somehow you did it. You helped us pull a victory out of our collective afts." Springer shook his head in shock.

Hound's expression was harder to read. "Smokescreen said you were the best tactician he had ever met."

The compliment, especially attributed to Smokescreen, surprised Prowl. He allowed a trace of a smile to grace his faceplate ever so slightly even as he sank back to the ground as the reinjured struts refused to hold his weight a second longer.

"No strategy is any better than the mechs executing them. We did this… together." He answered Hound with a tiny shake of his helm even as Hound and Springer immediately moved to his side.

With a startled curse, Springer started working on the new energon leaks, tossing his weapon aside in his haste. Moonracer gingerly gathered the discarded weapon and stepped back, watching.

Then her attention snapped upward and to the west. "They are here. It looks like an SR-172 from Iacon."

"A Search and Rescue ship?" Hound asked, then glanced down at Prowl's mangled frame and then glanced at the much more mildly battered frames of himself and Springer and shrugged. "Fitting I guess. At least it is one of the armored models."

The Autobot ship set down a fair distance away and then disgorged its passengers: The unmistakable black mass of Ironhide, the flashy presence of the two Terror Twins, three mechs Prowl did not know and then the equally unmistakable form of Ratchet. The six Autobots barreled across the wrecked plain until they were in the heart of the recent battlefield, where they slowed and transformed, weapons drawn but powered down.

To a mech, they looked around in stunned disbelief at the myriad of freshly graying frames littering the ground.

"You didn't need us." Sideswipe said, almost petulantly as he subspaced his swords.

Hound snorted air through his vents. "We did when I called for you." He gestured around in demonstration. "Twenty-one of them against four of us… and with us trapped like turbofoxes. Yeah, we didn't expect to make it till you got here."

Sideswipe mirrored Hounds gesture at the carnage they had inflicted. "What gives then?"

With a tiny smile, Hound pointed back to Prowl, who was now being seen to by Ratchet. "He directed the battle for us."

To a mech, all six of the new arrivals turned to stare at the badly injured Praxian, including the one busily attempting to stabilize him. Though, in Ratchet's case it was a hard glare rather than simply a stunned stare.

"You taxed your processor _that_ much while sustaining injuries like this?" The medic demanded, anger making his engine growl threateningly. "You…"

"He was tortured, Ratchet." Hound cut in quickly, gaining everyone's sudden attention. "The 'Con's did that when Barricade betrayed us. They were attempting to hack him when we rescued him."

Ironhide stepped closer. "They hacked you? What did they get?"

Prowl looked up at the much larger black mech with a little trepidation, as if he feared what might be done if they believed he had been compromised. "Nothing. I sent Barricade to the med bay with a fragmented processor when he tried. That is why they beat me before Slipshod tied."

They were staring again, except Ratchet who went back to work, all the while grumbling about two hacks, torture, a strained processor, and mechs who did not care a glitch about their own welfare. In a strange way, Prowl found he was comforted by the seemingly furious tirade. It seemed… more _natural_ than anything else.

Hound and Springer were quickly cornered by everyone else on the rescue team for more details about the battle and Prowl relaxed at having the attention taken off him. So great and numerous were his injuries, each one screaming for attention in its own way, that Prowl hardly noticed any discomfort from the repair work being done.

Then he felt an intense set of optics on him and looked past Ratchet to see Moonracer watching with an unreadable yet severe look. When she saw she had his attention, her optic ridge cocked slightly.

Their gazes locked for a long moment and then Prowl broke the contact, looking back at Ratchet. He lifted one hand and gently touched a bright chartreuse shoulder. "Ratchet…"

"What?" The medic demanded hotly and then cooled off immediately at seeing the look on his patient's faceplate.

Prowl did not give himself a chance to think about what he was about to request. "In order to successfully manage this engagement, I had to make use of sensory uplink codes for Hound, Springer and Moonracer. I was given permission to do so on condition."

"What does that have to do with anything about getting you stable enough to transport?" The medic demanded.

Prowl was not deterred by the question. The armor covering his dataport had been pried away by his Decepticon interrogators, but Prowl nodded to the exposed hardware, hiding his intense revulsion at having another in his mind, especially after what he had so recently endured. "Please confirm that I have deleted those codes."

Moonracer's optics widened in surprise even as Ratchet's narrowed. "There are more important things to worry about than that."

"I gave my word, Ratchet." Then quieter. "Please?"

Ratchet's optics widened then as well as he understood the full meaning of what Prowl had just said. The CMO knew his coding, knew how strongly such a promise bound the tactician who was now under his care. After a moment he nodded and deftly plugged his cord into place.

Prowl's firewalls were indeed still intact, indicating his interrogators had not been able to break them. As a hole was opened through those firewalls that would allow him to search the appropriate systems, Ratchet could see that, even if the firewalls had held, that did not mean there was no damage behind them. Considering the anomaly in Prowl's command cortex, it was enough to warrant a more detailed examination. But that would have to wait until they were back in Iacon.

Withdrawing his cord once he was finished, Ratchet could not help but see the way Prowl shuddered ever so slightly.

"They are gone." He confirmed softly and then looked up at the stunned femme still watching with slack faceplate and repeated slightly louder. "They are gone. No trace of them left."

"Thank you." Moonracer whispered, though who exactly she was thanking was an open question.

Ratchet continued to patch the major, most life threatening damage until he considered Prowl stable enough for transport back to Iacon. In the meantime, the rest of the rescue party determined that they would stay on the ground. It was a trip that would take them the remaining six joors of the night.

Not really caring what the warriors decided to do, Ratchet stood, looking at Ironhide. "We need to get him back to med bay. I can't do much more for him out here. There is no way he can walk back to the ship. Pit. I can't even imagine let alone figure out how he made it _here_."

Ironhide nodded and transformed, allowing Ratchet to place Prowl on his alt mode. Once the former Decepticon was settled, Ratchet looked at the two scouts. "Where are his doorwings?"

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker's optics snapped back to the Praxian as if just noticing the former Decepticon was missing those sensory panels. Nor were they the only ones.

"Here." Springer supplied and pulled them from subspace.

Not even Ratchet could restrain the horrified gasp as he took in the damage, the deep gouges and torn plating that riddled the sensitive panels, let alone the handful of energon daggers firmly imbedded in them. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were not unaffected either as they stared with disbelieving optics.

Ratchet accepted the proffered sensory panels and looked them over again before subspacing them quickly. The collective tension in the gathered mechs diminished palpably once the doorwings were no longer in view.

Seeing that his patient was secure, Ratchet also transformed and followed Ironhide back to the ship.

Sunstreaker watched the retreating medic and the former Decepticon Ironhide was carrying with open dismay. Then he looked at Hound. "He actually coordinated this victory… in _that_ state?'

Hound nodded, looking after the retreating mechs as well. "Yep. Makes you wonder what he could do if he was undamaged, you know?"

Sideswipe grimaced, casting a look at his twin. "Like he was when he went on patrol with us?" When Hound nodded the silver mech sighed a gust of air. "Yeah. Think about that, mech. Maybe we shoulda listened to him then."

Hound could also clearly remember that orn, the way Prowl had suggested that they could take the mechs who had staged the ambush that had so badly wounded Sunstreaker.

"Something like that." He found himself nodding before he and Springer likewise headed for the transport.

* * *

_My thanks to Anon-21 for pointing out Moonracer's relative youth. Yeah, I don't know much about any of the femmes… only what others have written, really. So, the early scene in this chapter with Hound and Moonracer was concocted on the fly just to deal with that. So, a little treat, even if it meant the next scene got pushed to the next chapter… oh well. :) Well, hope I didn't bore everyone with the battle scene… that type of action is not my strength. *pout* _

_FYI: I know I've been able to get the last couple of chapters (and this one) up very quickly. Please don't get upset if it goes back to only one chapter a week rather than one chapter every 4-5 days. I have a lot of stuff coming up in real life that will, of necessity, take up more of my time. But I will still aim for one a week._

_As always, please review! _


	20. Recovery

_Greetings everyone, I appologize for the craziness regarding this chapter and the problem FFnet had with allowing updates. I thank you for your patience and hope it has been worth it. :)_

_Note: Just a refresher on Turning Point's time line (in case anyone is getting frustrated that Prowl isn't being trusted more than he is.) This is just a **rough** timeline estimate, please, no ranting and raving if I am off a little._

_**1st Decaorn:** Chapters 1-7 (first part was his capture and then one orn in the brig, rest of the orn training/ evaluations with Ironhide, first orn of 3-orn patrol with the Twins)_

_**2nd Decaorn:** Chapters 8-11/12 (first part, rest of patrol with the Twins, the debriefing and repairs. His patrol with Ironhide.)_

_**3rd Decaorn:** Chapters 13-14. (there was a time jump between Prowl's first Patrol with Ironhide and his tactical analysis... yes it is there it is just kinda slipped in.)_

_**4th - 5th-ish Decaorn:** Chapter 15 (That was his long-term patrol with Hound... 5 orn travel out and 5 orn travel back = 1 decaorn right there, not to mention the several orns they spent out in the field before Hound was captured. However, the 5 orn travel back to Iacon actually takes place in chapter 16)_

_**6th Decaorn:** Chapters 16-19 (Keep in mind that Prowl's debriefing in chapter 16, his repairs and the incident in the rec room with Bluestreak and Beachcomber all take place relatively quickly. Jazz's conversation with Prowl takes place the orn after Beachcomber's [2 orns] Chapter 18 takes place over 3 orn or so [travel to the 'Con camp] and then chapter 19 is at least half an orn.)_

_So, basically, by this point Prowl has only been a defector for 6.5 - 7 decaorns at the most. That is the equivalent of what? six and a half weeks for us humans? A month and a half, almost two? Although I think a 'month' for them is 8 or 10 decaorns... or something like that. I've never really figured that out, but that's my story and I'm sticking to it. :) _

_So, even with everything poor Prowl has endured, he has only been on the 'Bot's side for roughly the equivalent of a month. And he was a high-ish ranking Decepticon: the face of Decepticon tactics for nearly a deca**vorn**. It would be the same as if a high ranking Nazi officer defected during WWII. Would he be trusted very much after only spending a **month** in the Allies' custody? Just a thought, and perhaps to shed some light on Prowl's patient endurance to this point..._

_Anyway, without further delay: Chapter 20, Recovery._

* * *

The hold of the transport ship was eerily quiet, save for the groans and rattles of the ship itself as Ratchet continued to work on Prowl. He was not doing much, for there was not much more he could do in the field. Mostly the medic's actions were simply to fill the silence of the ride. Ironhide, who knew Ratchet well, could see that fact easily. For that reason, the weapon specialist kept his attention on Prowl.

The mech was a mess. At first glance it seemed like his shoulder guards were missing entirely, but that was not the case. They appeared to have been pried part-way off, the metal twisted so that it was only a vague mockery of the shape it was supposed to be and then parts of it had been crudely sawn off. The armor plating on Prowl's legs looked only marginally better and the twisted metal and wires that spilled out of the nasty gashes in the outer plating told a story of much greater damage beneath. There were claw marks dug deep enough into his chassis armor that shreds of it were missing completely. Dried and still coagulating energon covered his frame and hinted at other injuries that could not be seen on the outside.

Ironhide had to agree with the CMO: He was at a loss as to how Prowl had managed to travel so far from the Decepticon camp. Pit, how was the mech even conscious, let alone functioning? And that was not even taking into consideration the two hacks the Decepticons had attempted.

Ironhide was tempted to feel badly because he had known exactly what Prowl was being sent into.

Bracing his hand against the nearest bulkhead as the shipped bucked in turbulence, Ironhide pushed himself to his pedes and made his way to the emergency berth Prowl had been reclined upon.

Golden optics flickered on at his approach and then constricted as Prowl focused on him. He could see the pain the tactician concealed behind a firm mask of stoicism. Ironhide opened his mouth to speak, but what he had wanted to say died on his glossa. With a small rev of his engine he tried again, and once more nothing came out. He pressed his lip plates together.

Prowl merely continued to regard him silently, simply waiting for him to articulate whatever he had come to say.

"If you have nothing to say, go sit back down." Ratchet snapped.

Ironhide let his engine growl at the mech before focusing back on Prowl. He hesitated a moment longer and then finally managed to spit out. "I'm impressed."

An optic ridge quirked upward over a very slight wince. "It is my hope that next time you wish to be impressed it will not be quite so… uncomfortable."

Behind Ironhide Hound snorted lightly and even Ironhide felt his engine stutter. "Hopefully there won't be any more traitors to deal with."

"If there are, I would volunteer to find a better method of taking care of them." Prowl drew in a sharp vent before letting it out slowly.

"I'll keep that in mind." Ironhide smiled ever so slightly before returning back to his seat. He was unaware that Ratchet's sharp optics followed him, the medic's hands falling still before curling into fists.

"You _knew_ Barricade was a traitor?"

Ironhide froze at Ratchet's dangerously low and incredulously snapped question. He turned slowly, suddenly wary at the almost murderous look in the CMO's optics. Twin, equally unhappy revs coming from the two scouts behind him made the weapon specialist tense further.

"Was he sent out with you _knowing_ this would happen to him?" It was Hound.

"Hound." Prowl's, voice was firm even if it was laced with discomfort, and drew every mech's attention. "_I_ knew."

Ironhide blinked his optic shutters. It was not said as if the Praxian thought he was imparting new information but was reminding Hound of something. Behind him, Hound's vents released a gust of air.

"That doesn't mean it was right." Hound replied, though his voice had lost its edge.

"It is reality." Prowl answered.

"And it won't happen again." Ironhide said quietly.

Ratchet huffed but a pained gasp from his patient had him turning back to Prowl before he could say what was on his mind. Ironhide released a vent and returned to his seat, aware of the still unhappy vibe radiating of Hound, who was seated next to him.

Even though Ratchet never took his optics off of Prowl for the remainder of the half-joor long flight he sent a tight comm. to Ironhide. _/I doubt Optimus will be as easily diverted./_

When Ironhide did not respond Ratchet sent him another message, this time his digital voice dripping cynicism. _/He didn't know about that aspect of this mission, did he?/_

Ironhide grumbled back over the same line. _/Plausible deniability./_

_/Right./_ The disbelief in the medic's reply was punctuated by an irritated cough from his engine.

Silence reclaimed the hold of the ship until they started their final approach. As the ship began its descent into the hanger, Ratchet leaned over Prowl. "I am going to sedate you prior to disembarking."

If Ironhide did not know better, he would have sworn he saw a flash of fear in the former Decepticon's optics. But then the Praxian nodded stiffly. "If you must."

"I believe that would be best." Ironhide frowned at the note of _concern_ in Ratchet's voice. That was never a good sign.

"Ironhide." Ironhide's attention snapped to Prowl who continued softly. "Please… keep Bluestreak away, at least until I am online again?"

Ironhide blinked his optic shutters at the request, but in glancing at the mech again, seeing the extensiveness of the damage that riddled his frame, he could imagine what the small blue and gray sparkling would go through if he saw his guardian like that. He nodded. "I promise."

Relief brushed across the Praxian's faceplate before it went slack and those bright gold optics flicked off.

… … …

Ratchet drummed his fingers impatiently on the metal surface of the briefing room table as he waited for the rest of the command staff to enter. Optimus was already there and the CMO was doing his level best to ignore the concern in his leader's optics as the Prime looked at him. Ironhide walked in with Jazz, glanced at Ratchet and then opted to sit across from him: as far away as one could get at a round table. Jazz seemed openly concerned as he slid into the chair next to Ratchet. Red Alert and Blaster walked in next, speaking quietly but animatedly with one another and ended up sitting next to each other so as to better facilitate their discussion.

Smokescreen came in last, his doorwings twitching slightly and Ratchet saw the uneasy look in his expression. The tactician's optics met his briefly and then darted away and Ratchet felt his ire grow even further. So, Smokescreen knew as well.

"Let us begin." Optimus spoke once Smokescreen had retreated to the seat next to Ironhide. "First, I am saddened to announce that one of our own has betrayed us. Barricade, who has been with the Autobots for nearly six vorns now and had a distinguished record of service, has been revealed as a Decepticon deep cover spy. I understand that our own recent defector, Prowl, was instrumental in uncovering this treachery. Only one member on the team sustained substantial damage."

Ironhide and Smokescreen nodded sharply, looking anywhere but at Ratchet. The CMO's fist curled tighter on the table's surface.

"Ratchet, how is Prowl doing?" Optimus asked with genuine concern.

Ratchet's engine growled as he straightened. He lifted a datapad, not because he needed it to recall the Praxian's extensive list of injuries, but for dramatic effect. "One collar strut was fractured. Portions of both shoulder guards have been mangled badly enough to require complete replacements. Substantial damage to the plating on his chassis, most of which was caused by clawed fingers, thankfully his spark chamber was not involved. Both legs had major support struts completely shattered, the armor covering them shredded. Two fingers were missing and must be replaced. His hip joint casings had been pried apart and the pain relays fused, my guess was that this was done prior to the other damage being inflicted so as to prevent him from deactivating his pain sensors…"

There were uncomfortable murmurs from the others at the table and Ratchet's mood grew darker just thinking about the damages the Praxian had been subjected to. He continued, not bothering to spare them any gruesome detail, pleased that at least Smokescreen and Ironhide were not meeting his optics. He focused on the tactician as he moved to the next part of his report, knowing the other Praxian would understand better than anyone else at the table what Prowl had gone through. "Furthermore, his doorwings had been shredded, literally. Panels covering the third, fourth and seventh sensor arrays on the left and the second, fourth, sixth and ninth sensor arrays on the right had been forcibly pried away and the underlying sensor hubs gouged out with what was probably a blunt instrument of some kind. Additionally, there were ten separate energon daggers imbedded in the wings. Six in the right doorwing and four in the left. Both had to be amputated in the field by Springer and are currently being rebuilt by Wheeljack."

Smokescreen's optics were wide with horror, his own doorwings trembling. But upon meeting Ratchet's gaze even briefly, the tactician looked down at the table.

Mostly satisfied for the moment, Ratchet looked back at Optimus. "I could also tell by scarring on his firewalls that there was at least one attempt to hack him. Prowl reported two attempts."

Jazz, appearing rather uncomfortable, perked up at that. "Oh? And how did that go for 'em?"

Ratchet released a vent of air. He had taken advantage of having the former Decepticon sedated to do a brief scan of his memory files related to the mission but no more. "According to Prowl's own memory cache, not very good. Barricade attempted to hack him first. Prowl was indeed able to fragment the traitors processors, and very thoroughly I might add. It will be some time before we hear from him again. The second time was after he had been beaten and most of the reported damages inflicted. Apparently Slipshod liked to use the energon daggers as an attempt to try and break Prowl's mental concentration. He still did not get anything."

Jazz actually smiled at that. "I told you he woulda been able ta put up quite a fight if he'd wanted ta."

"There is more." Ratchet said, stopping the soft murmurs that his report had generated, focusing all his attention on the Prime

Once the room was silent again, Ratchet continued. "Prowl _knew_ going into this mission that Barricade was a likely traitor and that he would probably be captured and tortured and likely killed. Gave it a probability of 99.26%. He _knew_ what would happen to him."

Optimus spoke after a long moment. "He knew? How?"

Ratchet's engine growled again, the noise startling those closest to him into leaning away. The fist on the table tightened and then pounded into the metal surface. "Because _that_ was the real mission!"

Silence echoed after the CMO's furious snarl. Optimus straightened as he processed that statement, then he turned his slowly simmering cobalt optics onto Smokescreen. When he spoke it was with a deadly calm that even made Ratchet tremble internally.

"Is that true?"

Smokescreen was a long moment in answering, unable to lift his optics from the table. When he finally answered it was more strained than anyone in the briefing room had heard before. "Yes, sir."

The silence that settled this time was brittle and almost trembled in the intensity and carefully restrained _anger_ building not just in Optimus but in Jazz as well. No one spoke, afraid of tipping the balance as their Prime's optics bored into them one at a time, as if reading, evaluating.

"Everyone except Ironhide and Smokescreen, leave."

Blaster and Red Alert both leapt to their pedes and bolted for the door.

"Jazz." Optimus commanded with that single word.

Jazz shook his helm. "I'm responsible for Prowl's parole. Somethin' like this shoulda been run past me."

Ratchet read the barely restrained fury in the saboteur and quickly deduced that Jazz had not had a hand in this. Which was good for the little minibot's sake, because he was ready to rip helms from the other two's shoulders… even if he would have to be the one to weld them back on afterward.

He had not even realized he had moved, or that his saw was starting to warm up until Optimus spoke again, warning lacing his tone. "Ratchet!"

Ratchet straightened, gesturing at Smokescreen and Ironhide, making the Praxian wince. "Those two-bit, wretched, slagging glitch…"

"Ratchet!" Ratchet's vocalizer cut into static at the commanding tone in Optimus voice, snapping him out of his tirade. "No. I will deal with this. Remain calm or go tend to your patient."

Ratchet hesitated, but could read the grim seriousness in the Prime's optics, the anger that he somehow managed never to let escape that unfathomable calm and realized that Optimus was right. He had come dangerously close to crossing a line he could not allow himself to cross and that doing so would only obligate Optimus to punish him as well. Grudgingly he deflated, giving his Prime a respectful, almost apologetic, nod and settled back into his chair even if he was by no means calm.

Seeing his CMO had regained control, Optimus returned his attention to the two mechs who were carefully studying the table. With a quiet sigh of air, Optimus decided to deal with them one at a time.

"Smokescreen." The Praxian flinched visibly at his tone but Optimus said nothing more until the tactician hesitantly turned his optics up to meet his. "Do you know what you have done?"

Smokescreen's vents flared and he spoke quickly, defensively. "Every plan we came up with to expose Barricade carried extreme risk of something like that happening." When Optimus' engine revved, Smokescreen flinched again and hurried on. "Actually… Prowl was the most likely one to survive simply because I knew the 'Cons would want to prolong the process. It would've given the rescue team a chance to reach him. Anyone else who could have been sent on the mission would have been killed on the spot."

Ratchet released another vent of air, feeling his armor start to settle on his frame ever so slightly at hearing that assertion. Beside him, Jazz likewise relaxed a fraction, as did Optimus.

Smokescreen blinked his optic shutters at their reactions and then glanced around before shaking his helm almost desperately and looking back at Optimus. "As angry as I am at him, I _never_ would've done something like that for revenge. I swear."

Ratchet froze mid intake and looked at Optimus, waiting – along with everyone else – for the Prime's judgment. After a long moment, Optimus nodded. "That is good to hear, Smokescreen. Because that would only have compounded the problem."

"Problem?" Smokescreen looked genuinely perplexed. "I don't…"

Jazz cut in then, his fingers drumming angrily on the table as he kept his visored gaze locked onto the Praxian. "Did ya even ask 'im if he had any objections ta takin' on the mission?"

Smokescreen nodded, not seeming to understand the relevance of the question. "He said he would carry out the assigned task to the best of his ability. I don't…"

Jazz leaned forward suddenly and so quickly Smokescreen jerked back. The Saboteur's sudden fury was frightening to behold, even for Ratchet. "In other words, he was trapped into riskin' his spark… into goin' on a mission where it was absolutely _certain_ he would be _tortured_. That's basically the same as if ya had done it yourself!"

Smokescreen trembled slightly. "What? No… he, he could have objected."

"No. He could not." Optimus reached out and put a restraining hand on Jazz who was also trembling, though not in fear. The head of Autobot Intelligence slowly settled back into his chair and Optimus continued, focusing back on Smokescreen.

"The changes Prowl introduced to his ethical programing mean that he literally could _not_ protest, even had he wanted to." Seeing Smokescreen's optics widen in shock and slowly dawning horror, Optimus continued more gently. "I know you are angry at Prowl right now, and I know you have every right to be for what he did to you. But you should also know how dangerous he could be if he decides _not_ to continue allying himself with the Autobots. And that is the _only_ way he could have avoided following your orders."

Smokescreen looked down, his optics unfocused on the physical world around him. He shuddered as the full weight of what those words meant slammed into him. "Oh, Primus…"

Seeing what he had wanted in Smokescreen, Optimus turned his attention to Ironhide.

Ironhide did not halfway cower as Smokescreen had. It was not in the large black mech's temperament to do so. Instead he straightened, meeting Optimus' hard look for a long moment, evaluating the situation. Then he dipped his helm formally.

"Prime." Ironhide's gruff voice rumbled with equal parts respect, submission and control. The ancient soldier knew he was in trouble and would accept the consequences with dignity.

"Did you know about this aspect of the mission?" Optimus asked quietly but without compromise in his voice.

Ironhide hesitated, but then nodded. "Yes, sir."

"You knew better." The raw disappointment in the Prime's voice made the bulky mech wince ever so slightly.

"Yes, sir." Ironhide admitted. "But I did have reasons."

"Reasons to _force_ a mech into a situation where he would be tortured and possibly killed?"

Ironhide nodded, gesturing with one finger to the tactician beside him. "Smokescreen was right. Prowl had the highest chance of surviving of any mech on the base. I saw the calculations he ran."

Optimus frowned again. "But you know that his loyalty…

"Has only been confirmed." Ironhide cut his leader off, a note of fierce if ill-defined emotion filling his voice. "Unless it is a big ruse by the 'Con slaggers and they _let_ him escape that is. Because, if he was going to turn on us, he would have done so on this mission. Better we find out now than when he is trusted more and would actually pose a threat to our security."

Ironhide paused. "There is still the risk that he is a sleeper agent, but except for that…"

Optimus continued to stare at him critically, but his weapon specialist did not back down. "Besides, we can't guarantee he won't accidentally be ordered to do something dangerous or unpleasant in the future. No matter how hard we might try to protect him, it is bound to happen because most mechs aren't aware of that little problem with his programming. Better to find out what his reactions will be now than later."

Optimus' optics narrowed, "He endured severe torture and did not turn on us for making him do so. That is more than we had any right to expect."

"Slagging impressive, if ya ask me." Jazz added curtly.

Then, despite everything, Ironhide smiled. "No. What was really impressive was what happened afterward."

He quickly detailed the battle Prowl had directed, in spite of his many and varied injuries, including details from Hound's, Springer's and Moonracer's reports. Ratchet could tell that that news was likewise new to Optimus, Jazz and Smokescreen. The low whistle that escaped Jazz's vents matched Ratchet's initial reaction perfectly.

Smokescreen seemed to be quickly coming to terms with these newest revelations and then looked up at Optimus, his optics and tone almost pleading. "Sir… I want him in my department. I don't know if I've forgiven him yet, or if I even can. But he is the best tactician I have ever met; the best one on Cybertron. Planning an effective, coordinated attack on those safe houses he discovered is going to be tough. Our likelihood of success goes up exponentially if he is involved."

Ratchet's engine revved unhappily at the thought of Smokescreen having direct command over Prowl like that, especially after this fiasco.

Optimus seemed to feel the same way. "First _you_ will determine what effect this mission has had on his willingness to cooperate, Smokescreen. Then, if all is well, we will inform him of his new assignment once he is released from med bay."

Smokescreen nodded, looking a little uneasy but clearly not daring to question the Prime after the reprimand he and Ironhide had just received. Optimus stood, signaling the end of the meeting and Smokescreen darted from the room, not meeting anyone's optics. Ironhide also started to leave but Optimus called out to him.

"Ironhide."

The black mech froze and Ratchet and Jazz swiftly decided their presence was needed elsewhere and followed Smokescreen's lead in getting back to their various duties.

Optimus waited until the door closed behind the other mechs' retreat and then walked slowly toward his most trusted guard. Ironhide straightened under his inspection but did not speak, waiting respectfully for Optimus to continue.

"We are not Decepticons." He said deliberately. "Underhanded and manipulative tactics are beneath us."

Now alone, Ironhide's engine revved as he met the Prime's gaze boldly. "And if we allow ourselves to remain in ignorance of a possible threat it does not mean that that threat does not exist."

"We have sworn to protect the rights of others." Optimus reminded.

"_Prowl_ is still a Prisoner of War. He has no rights."

Optimus frowned. "You do not truly believe that."

Ironhide's engine growled softly then he dropped his gaze. "Perhaps not. Though... it's an option."

"We will follow the tenants of our cause, Ironhide. We should not compromise simply because of expediency." Optimus insisted, then paused. "I am confident another way _could_ have been found to administer the test you used this situation for."

Ironhide did not respond for a long moment, not until a large, strong hand landed on his shoulder. Then he looked up. "It was still effective."

"Perhaps." Optimus admitted. "And perhaps it was the only way. I do not like the thought of you going behind my back in such a manner. Others, I would expect it of, but not you."

Ironhide remained silent for a long moment. "I wanted to protect you."

"And I appreciate that." Optimus' voice was full of understanding, but still carried flinty conviction tinged with disappointment. "But I doubt that fact will matter to the one who was most wronged by this event."

"I think you will find Prowl does not hold you accountable." Ironhide interjected. "And I am not even sure it would matter if he did."

"To him or to us?"

"To him." Ironhide shrugged the shoulder his leader was not touching. "He knows he is still a POW, and he knows…

"We are trying to convince him to _join_ us, Ironhide." Optimus reproved softly. "What motivation is there for him to do that if we behave in the same manner as the Decepticons?"

"We are _not_ Decepticons!" Ironhide bit out.

Optimus withdrew his hand and stepped back in clear dismissal, fis tone growing more firm. "Exactly. Ensure we do not act like them."

Ironhide stiffened at the clear rebuke. "Yes, sir."

A moment longer hung between them and then he took his leave. Had he glanced back into the briefing room before the door slid shut, Ironhide would have seen the Prime return to his seat, gaze focused on that intermediate space that only Optimus seemed to be able to see.

… … …

Prowl's optics onlined, flickering once before powering up completely, focusing belatedly on First Aid and Ratchet peering down at him. He blinked, instinctively accessing his memory files and running a rapid diagnostic of his own systems. That was when he realized at least one of the medics was in his mind.

With ruthless resolve, Prowl stamped out the instinctive panic at that realization as he reminded himself these were allies; _medics_. Once his brief reaction was under control he was able to evaluate the presence and recognized that _both_ of them were actually in his head. But it did not carry the feel of an interrogation, only that of a medical evaluation.

Allowing him to come to those realizations on his own, Ratchet finally spoke. "How are you feeling?"

Prowl blinked again and took a moment to consider the question, running another diagnostic. He grimaced. "My processor feels a touch… fuzzy. But there is no pain."

Ratchet nodded. "That is because you are still lightly sedated." Prowl nodded his understanding, suddenly nervous about the reason for that fact combined with their presence in his processor. He waited silently however, knowing he had no choice, regardless of what they were about to do to him.

Thankfully, Ratchet chose to explain. "Your firewalls show evidence of damage from the hacks the Decepticons attempted. When I confirmed your deletion of the sensory uplink codes I noticed some damage behind those firewalls as well. It is also necessary to take a look at that anomaly in your logic and emotional interface, considering the recent trauma you have endured."

Prowl understood and he also understood he could not complain seeing as it was considered a medical necessity. "I understand." He said softly.

Ratchet nodded and then glanced at First Aid. "Since you are still sedated, and therefore this won't be as uncomfortable, First Aid needs some experience with this type of thing."

Prowl glanced at First Aid's openly nervous expression, appreciating that the decision was being left to him. For that reason more than anything else, Prowl found himself nodding. "Of course."

They ran the scan, or rather Ratchet ran the scan and First Aid followed attentively. The sedatives made his systems sluggish but they did not demolish his defenses. It would have made it difficult to maintain a defense of his mind had he been trying, but as he was not, he was grateful they blunted the discomfort he knew such an exam would have generated.

The exam lasted perhaps eight breems, extended to allow Ratchet to teach First Aid and demonstrate things to him. Through it all, Prowl did not so much as twitch, mentally or physically, as he passively 'watched' what the medics were doing. When it was finally over, both medics withdrew and then disconnected the hub. Moments later the fuzziness that had filled his processor cleared and Prowl became more aware of his surroundings.

He was in the medbay, reclined on his back on a berth. Most of the pain had either been resolved or was expertly masked. The general soreness of fresh welds criss-crossed his frame and he realized with a start that Ratchet had actually completed most if not all of his major repairs while he was sedated. That alone was a kindness he had not experienced since the war started.

Following that realization was the fact that his doorwings had not yet been reconnected. As if sensing his thoughts, First Aid spoke up.

"Wheeljack is still working on your doorwings. We still have some work to do on the control wiring for them as well, as the damage to your back was substantial." First Aid gave him an encouraging look. "But that is about it, though you will need to stay in that berth for the rest of the orn so the welds in your legs can properly set. Ratchet would not be very happy if you broke one by walking too early."

"No, I would not." Ratchet growled, then looked at Prowl. "That anomaly in your command cortex appears to be stable for the moment, though it is slightly larger than when I first detected it. Other than that, there is someone here to see you, if you are up to visitors."

"Who?" Prowl asked, hiding a wince as the ache in his processor from the recent scan made itself known in the absence of the sedatives.

"Smokescreen." Ratchet seemed irritated at just saying the other tactician's name. "I can give you a medical excuse not to see him if you wish. The glitch."

Prowl frowned at that "If he is here, he must have a reason. He would not be here just to 'check' on my wellbeing."

"Which is exactly why you don't have to see him. You are most definitely on medical leave right now." Ratchet glowered across the med bay again.

Prowl frowned, feeling a touch defensive for the younger tactician, though he had an inkling of _why_ Ratchet was upset. "I will see him."

Ratchet nodded curtly and then disappeared from his field of vision. First Aid gingerly helped him to sit up so that he could lean against the nearby wall and Prowl was grateful for that, not really wanting to confront his former apprentice flat on his back like a malfunctioning drone.

Smokescreen approached him, almost cautiously and those bright blue optics roved over his frame, carefully cataloging the damage. Smokescreen came to a stop and leaned against the berth next to Prowl's.

"You look horrible." Prowl might have imagined the slight wince in the other tactician's expression.

"I actually feel much better than I had previously."

Smokescreen's optics snapped to his and then he grimaced. "Yeah. I imagine so." There was an awkward moment of silence before Smokescreen gestured vaguely with one hand. "Look, Prowl…I…"

Prowl frowned slightly when Smokescreen looked to the side. "I trust there were reasons for why you planned the mission in such a way. Reasons that necessitated it happening as it did." When Smokescreen looked back at him startled, Prowl softened his tone, though it remained carefully bland. "You said you would not do this to me just for spite."

Smokescreen stared at him, then slowly nodded. "I ran calculations on 182 different possible mission configurations and sending you… actually had the highest survival chances, for _everyone_ on the mission."

Prowl just looked at him silently, processing that statement. Smokescreen stiffened slightly under his gaze. "The details of those calculations is still restricted information, but I'm telling you the truth. It was the best of a lot of horrible options, so I chose the lesser of the available evils."

Unspoken was an almost juvenile _"So take it or leave it."_

It was still not entirely satisfactory in terms of an explanation, but Prowl could not fault the classified status of such information. The real question was whether he would trust his former apprentice, and that was the conundrum he pondered for several long astroseconds.

"You do not trust me." It was a relatively bland statement from Smokescreen, though tinged with hurt.

Prowl's optics refocused on him. "Have I reason to?"

White and gray fists curled tightly. "_I'm_ not the one who walked out of the Enforcer corps, who betrayed everything he claimed to believe in to join the _Decepticons_, who abandoned an apprentice – a _friend_ – just because it was the most 'logical' thing to do."

Prowl cringed at that heated reminder and lowered his gaze. Above him, Smokescreen's vents were heaving air. He was wise enough to realize that the rebuke stung so badly because it was well deserved. Thus he was not even tempted to offer a justification or defense.

"You are right." He said softly. "My apologies."

Prowl forced himself to meet Smokescreen's fuming optics before formally ducking his helm. "You have said there were valid reasons for putting me in the situation you have, even if you can not reveal those reasons to me. I accept that." He hesitated. "Thank you, Smokescreen, for the reassurance."

Smokescreen blinked, as if caught completely off guard. He nodded stiffly and started to leave, making it several steps away before he stopped. He did not so much as turn around to face him again as he slightly angled his body back toward Prowl's berth. "For what it is worth, I honestly did not know how tightly your ethical program bound you in this case."

Then he was gone, leaving Prowl to wonder about the possible, unspoken implications behind that last statement.

He did not have long to speculate when an excited young voice suddenly shattered the relative quiet of the med bay with an almost squealed, "Prowl!"

Prowl looked toward the sound even as running pedes stampeded towards his berth. Almost in a flash, Bluestreak's small helm was right next to him, a small blue and gray hand placed hesitantly on the armor of his leg – which was still stretched out on the berth he was sitting on. Another hand reached up and gently caressed the armor of his chassis, as if the youngling was trying to reassure himself that he was actually, physically there.

Prowl lifted his hand, gratified to find the fingers Slipshod had torn off had been replaced. He rested it lightly on Bluestreak's helm only to have the sparkling wrap both of his hands around his wrist and cling to it tightly for a long moment. Then Bluestreak pulled away slightly, but only so that he could look over Prowl as much as he was able from his poor vantage point.

"Are you in pain?" Wide blue optics peered back at him. "Because Jazz said you were injured and that you were hurting and that that was why I couldn't see you right away. And I can see the fresh weld marks on you and, there are so many of them and… where are your doorwings?

Prowl released a vent. "I was injured, and my doorwings are… being repaired. I am not currently in a significant amount of pain."

Bluestreak's faceplate furrowed for a moment. "So… you _are_ in pain?"

"Nothing to be concerned about." Prowl assured and was rewarded by a relieved ex-vent from the youngling and a timid smile.

Then the youngling glanced around the berth again, looking longingly at its surface, before looking back at Prowl. "Can I sit with you?"

Prowl nodded, moving to allow the youngling room on the side of the berth, pleasantly surprised when there was no excruciating pain accompanying the movement, only the soreness of fresh welds.

Bluestreak settled next to his hips, hanging his own legs off the edge of the berth. He looked at Prowl for a moment and then looked down at the ground below him, clearly deep in thought and troubled by what was on his processor.

"What are you thinking, Bluestreak?" He asked gently.

Bluestreak looked up at him, started to say something, then pressed his lip plates closed and hung his head again. "I… it's not important."

Prowl frowned and reached out to touch Bluestreak's shoulder. "That is clearly not the case. It must be important to you." When Bluestreak still did not stir or volunteer what he was thinking, Prowl let his engine rev softly, just enough to get the youngling's attention.

Blue optics shot to him in surprise and Prowl repeated. "What is it? Please tell me."

Bluestreak seemed to consider his options and then he turned fully toward him. "You said you would be careful!"

Prowl jerked back slightly at the bitter accusation. "I was as careful as I could be…"

"But you got hurt!" Bluestreak cut him off and curled his legs under himself to stand and then he stepped onto Prowl's upper leg, one hand curling around his chassis armor to help him keep his position as the other gestured widely at the various weld seams. "You might have gotten killed, and you said you would be careful. But you didn't, you almost got killed and you said you would be careful!"

A tiny fist banged into his chassis and then Bluestreak collapsed against him, little hands clinging to the edges of metal plates, his frame shaking in time to quiet keens. Feeling _completely_ out of his element, Prowl just sat there, frozen for a long moment and only distantly aware Bluestreak's outburst had attracted attention.

Suddenly understanding his lack of action might be taken for either indifference or an inability to do anything else because of his injuries, and not wanting the youngling removed, Prowl quickly wrapped one arm around the trembling frame, stroking him soothingly between the doorwings.

More than a dozen possible responses flitted through Prowl's processors and he dismissed each of them, confident Bluestreak would not be able to understand the intricate and serious realities that had impacted his last mission.

He settled for releasing a soft vent and spoke softly. "I am sorry Bluestreak."

The youngling whimpered, curling into him even tighter.

Slowly, over the span of several breems, Bluestreak slowly calmed. "I didn't mean to blame you. I know you wouldn't hurt yourself. I'm sorry." He mumbled against Prowl's armor.

"I know; you are worried." Prowl answered gently.

Bluestreak gave him a tiny, weak smile and then, with another tight squeeze he relaxed, slipping into recharge; spent by the wild tide of emotions.

Seeing that Bluestreak was finally settled, Prowl turned his attention to the one who had brought him. Expecting to see Chromia or Ironhide, and since he still did not have his doorwings and was therefore unable to scan for a spark signature, he was surprised to see it was Jazz who was leaning against a berth several dozen meters away so as not to intrude on their reunion.

When their optics locked, the saboteur pushed away from the exam table and sauntered closer before swinging up onto the berth next to the one Prowl occupied.

Prowl dipped his helm, wondering if the head of Autobot Intelligence was there to scan his processor, though he would have thought Jazz would not do something like that with Bluestreak present. "Thank you, Jazz, for bringing Bluestreak."

Jazz gave him a smile. "Think nothin' of it. How are ya doing mech?"

Prowl gave the silver minibot a somewhat rueful look. "Better than I had imagined I would be when I left Iacon."

"Yeah, I bet so." The grimace that ghosted across Jazz's faceplate surprised Prowl. "Look, Prowl about that…"

When Jazz paused, pressing his lip plates together, Prowl thought he understood; his earlier suspicions confirmed. He nodded, averting his gaze. "I understand. You may conduct your scan whenever you wish."

Jazz physically recoiled at that, jerking backward. "What? Whoa!"

Prowl blinked but did not lift his gaze to the other mech's truly disliking the idea of another invading mind after what the Decepticons had done. He pushed that away, answering the question implied in the saboteur's less than eloquent outburst.

"After such an event it would only be logical to confirm that my supposedly questionable loyalties have not suffered. I will not resist."

It took Jazz a moment to recover, first staring and then shaking his helm rapidly, leaning forward, reaching across the distance that separated them. Prowl tensed as the Saboteur's clawed hand neared, but he did not try to evade the contact. Whatever he was expecting, Jazz only rested the tips of two fingers lightly on his shoulder.

"Nah, Prowler. Ya wouldn't have come back if ya had had a change of spark." That brought Prowl's gaze up sharply. Jazz gave his freshly replaced shoulder guard a light, almost friendly tap before pulling away. "I… appreciate the offer tho', 'specially after what ya have just been through."

Prowl could not stop the relieved ex-vent that blew through his systems. "Thank you Jazz." Then he considered the Saboteur closely. "That… is a remarkable and unexpected demonstration of trust."

Jazz nodded, a smile forming slowly on his lip plates, gesturing up and down his frame. "Yeah, well I'd have ta say ya definitely earned it after somethin' like that."

Prowl almost, _almost_, gave a short, hard bark of laughter at that. Something must have shown on his faceplate however, because Jazz cocked his head to the side questioningly. Prowl allowed a gust of air to snort through his olfactory vents. "I would have preferred a different method had been found to test my convictions."

Surprisingly, Jazz grimaced again. "Yeah… about that. Prowl…"

Prowl frowned, truly concerned. That the exact same place in the conversation that had troubled Jazz the first time. Obviously, Prowl's own suspicions as to what the hesitation was about were wrong. The fact that he had absolutely no idea what Jazz was trying, and clearly not sure _how,_ to say made him more nervous than he would ever admit.

Keeping his arm around Bluestreak, Prowl leaned forward slightly. "Jazz… Whatever it is… You should not have to struggle so much in how to tell me."

Jazz's gaze snapped back to him and he had the distinct impression that the saboteur was remembering something just as much as he was considering Prowl's words. At length the other mech nodded, all pretense falling from his demeanor.

"You're right, I suppose." The smaller mech drew in a deep intake of air. "Look, I gotta make sure ya understand what I'm sayin' and… what I'm _not _sayin' and that ya don't take it wrong or read too much into it."

Prowl felt his optic ridge's arch at Jazz's unusually earnest tone and, after a moment he simply nodded his understanding. After a long, intense stare, Jazz continued, speaking slowly, carefully, evaluating his response.

"Tha mission you were sent on… Look. I understand how your ethical codin' works, I know you weren't given an option this time. And a mission like that… it wasn't right. That you're takin' it as well as ya have…" Jazz stumbled to a stop again, looking to the side before meeting his gaze once more. "I'm sorry."

Prowl blinked, jerking away slightly to bump his back against the wall supporting him. Air hissed through his vents at the stab of pain that action sent through the still tender wounds on his dorsal plating. Why would Jazz apologize?

Before Prowl could ask, Jazz continued, drawing in another deep vent of air as if to steel himself. "I guess what I'm tryin' to say is that we don't expect ya to do somethin' like that just 'cause ya are told to. That type of sacrifice isn't somethin' _any_ mech should ever be _ordered_ ta make. Tha fact that you're a defecting 'Con and a POW doesn't change that."

Prowl considered Jazz carefully, surprised and… warmed… at what he had said. It was so different from the Decepticons, where absolute obedience was expected and enforced with brutal efficiency. It was not uncommon for lower-ranking Decepticon soldiers to be sent on suicide missions and they were not given a choice. And suddenly he realized yet another difference between the Decepticons and the Autobots; it was a difference that gave the Autobots a resiliency that he had failed to take note of before and would greatly impact the outcome of the war and the methods that could be used to bring about its end. He tasked his tactical computer to investigating that little insight and its possible ramifications as he focused back on the moment.

If he took that statement seriously, it left him in a very difficult position and he suddenly understood Jazz's struggle to communicate his meaning.

Speaking softly he decided to ask directly. "As you say, you know the parameters of my programming. If you are giving me permission to disregard such orders, where do I draw the line?"

Jazz stared for a moment and then relaxed visibly. Then he smiled, but it was in relief, not humor. And then grim determination. "I shoulda known you'd get it. Ya understand I can't just give ya cart blanche permission to disregard orders or anything." Prowl nodded in the momentary pause and Jazz continued. "But I can do this. If ya ever doubt whether or not an order you've been given is somethin' you'd be expected to follow like that, I want ya to ask me. _I'm_ the one overseein' your probation."

Prowl thought about that for a moment. "And you are specifically referring to orders that would require substantial risk and/or a guarantee of excessive physical harm or possible death."

It was the logical conclusion based on the earlier context of the conversation, but Prowl wanted to be sure.

Jazz nodded slowly. "Not everyone knows about the restrictions your ethical codin' places on ya. That's how this was allowed to happen in the first place. I'm fairly confident that isn't information you'd want widely known, so I figure this is the best way ta help make sure it doesn't happen again."

Prowl found he was just staring at the small, silver mech, trying to wrap his processor around the very idea of what was being offered to him. "Why?"

"'Cause we _aren't_ Decepticons." Jazz said with an almost angry bite to his words. "Just sendin' a mech out ta be tortured or killed isn't somethin' worthy of our faction. Not without a slaggin' good cause, and preferably not without giving the mech a say in the matter."

Prowl considered that as well, reading between the lines that the mech might very well consider that there _could_ be times when such an order would be considered proper. It would just depend on what 'slaggin' good cause' meant.

He continued to peer at Jazz, his expression carefully controlled. The silver saboteur met his gaze without backing down and Prowl was struck with the sudden realization that Jazz was very serious about this. It was an offer to… _protect_ him. To protect him from the unintended consequences of his own tampering with his ethical program. And the very idea floored him, nearly making his balance systems glitch and was glad he was still seated. The Decepticons would have taken gleeful advantage of such a self-imposed weakness and he had been prepared to stoically endure the ramifications of his own shortsightedness. That those who had so recently called him enemy would actually seek to _protect_ him… it was… almost beyond his ability to comprehend, to believe.

It was also an offer that could potentially put Jazz in a very awkward place and Prowl immediately knew he would not even consider abusing such an offer of trust.

After a long moment he bowed his helm to Jazz. "I understand, Jazz. And I am grateful for the consideration and I give you my word, I will not take this liberty lightly."

Jazz smiled again, brief and almost solemn. "I know."

And with that, Prowl also realized that Jazz was likewise positioning himself to take sole responsibility if the Autobots ever deemed it necessary to send him on another mission similar to the one he had just completed. Or any other unpleasant task from which he might some day ask for a reprieve, should he be denied that escape. He suspected that Jazz was doing so strictly so that if it did happen again, he would have an individual to blame, rather than the Autobots as a whole. Jazz knew his programming, after all, and was taking this step to help protect others; just in case. That realization, while it might have tempted Prowl to feel resentful toward the silver minibot, actually had the opposite effect. He found, as illogical as it might have been, that his respect for Jazz increase.

Prowl gave Jazz another nod, somehow able to embody that newfound admiration in such a simple gesture. Jazz blinked and then returned the nod, sliding off the berth and onto his pedes.

They considered each other for a long moment, then Jazz gestured toward the door of the med bay. "I'm gonna let ya get some recharge now. My time's almost up anyway, Ratchet said I only had a handful of breems before he'd kick me out."

Prowl found his lip plates quirking slightly at that last comment. "Thank you, Jazz."

With another small smile Jazz was gone. In his absence, Prowl was surprised to note, the med bay felt oddly… empty.

* * *

_To __**16DarkMidnight80**__: Thank you for the encouragement. Don't get angry... please? *whimper* :D BTW, you need to get your own account so that I can respond to your comments personally… :)_

_Also, thanks to __**Eowyn77 **__who helped me sort through a lot of what you are about to read and without whom the briefing scene in this chapter would not be as strong as it is: Thanks for letting me bounce ideas off you! :)_

_Furthermore, thanks to __**Albion North**__ for a comment in a review on chapter 18 that helped inspire Jazz's interactions with Prowl near the end of this chapter._

_Also, thanks to __**Fianna9 **__and__** Sunstarunicorn**__ who also expressed a desire to see Ratchet in his furious glory and thus prodded me to explore that some more, otherwise I probably would have stuck with staying in Prowl's POV (like my original outline had it) and we wouldn't have gotten most of this chapter. :)_

_Many thanks to each and every one of you, even if I didn't mention you here by name. Your constant encouragement is very gratifying and a very good reminder of why I enjoy writing fanfiction so much._


	21. Rectification

Prowl spent the majority of another orn in the med bay, long enough for most of the generalized soreness in his frame to fade. The processor ache caused by the two Decepticon hacks and Ratchet and First Aid's scan had also faded. Chromia had come to collect Bluestreak when the youngling had grown restless being restricted to Prowl's berth and the surrounding floor space.

At first Bluestreak had been reluctant to leave Prowl, fretting over what might happen to him once he was gone. It had taken the combined efforts of Chromia, Ratchet, First Aid and Prowl to convince the small blue and gray youngling that there was no need for him to worry.

He had argued animatedly and repeatedly, clinging to Prowl tightly. "Every time I leave him he is sent away and he gets hurt. I don't want him to die!"

It had taken almost an entire joor to convince him that such would not be the case this time, that Prowl was not going to be in any danger on the base.

Once Chromia and Bluestreak were gone, Prowl became the focus of the fiery chartreuse CMO. "I'm going to disconnect the energon drip and then give it a joor or two to make sure your systems are stable without it."

Prowl nodded and watched without aversion as the medic reached for the tubing that had been inserted into the primary energon line within his abdominal complex just distal to his primary energon filter. It was one of several specially designed ports designed to accept direct infusions of energon and, according to Ratchet, was the only one they could get to without disturbing his injuries. The long, specially shaped blunt-tipped needle pulled free of the valve without difficulty and within astroseconds the port had sealed itself.

Prowl watched Ratchet walk away and then examined the hand that Ratchet had had to repair. The two new fingers were still the wrong color, and were likely to remain that way until he could paint them. His personal supply of paint had been seized with his other possessions upon his initial capture by the Autobots in Praxus. Thus, because paint was considered a non-critical aspect of a mech's appearance, he doubted he would have the opportunity to correct the problem any time soon. It was the same for his shoulder plating and various other plates on his frame that had been too damaged by his interrogators to be salvageable.

He released a sigh of air and pushed that thought aside. As much as it might irk him and prove professionally and personally embarrassing to appear like a patch-work, hobbled together slag-scraper, he knew he would survive.

However, no sooner did he resign himself to that fact, movement at the med bay doors caught his attention. It was awhite, orange and green mech roughly Ratchet's size with glowing indicator fins framing his face and Prowl immediately recognized him as Wheeljack. That was followed closely by recognition of what the mech was carrying: his doorwings.

Ratchet must have seen the engineer enter for he called out from the other side of the medical ward for Wheeljack to just put the doorwings down on the berth next to Prowl's.

"Oh… okay." Wheeljack seemed suddenly nervous as he glanced that direction.

Not doubting that nervousness was related to his presence, Prowl was careful to adopt a nonthreatening posture. Slowly, Wheeljack made his way closer. Then he seemed to shake himself and then walked right up to Prowl, awkwardly holding out one hand, palm out. "So, you must be Prowl."

Because he was still holding both doorwings, the engineer had to turn and twist in such a way that the sensory panels hid his face. Had Prowl been any other mech, the sight would have made him laugh out loud. As it was, he found he had to suppress an amused smile.

He touched the engineer's palm lightly with his own. "I am. You must be Wheeljack."

"You bettcha." Wheeljack turned back around, letting his hand fall away from Prowl's, the indicators framing his face flickering happily. "I got these for ya. The originals were a real piece of art. Very impressive. But they were so badly damaged the only parts I could spare were the original superstructure and the surviving sensor nodes. I had to re-panel and rewire them completely. Because there are seven new sensory nodes, and two of them are upgraded from what you are used to, it might take an orn or two to fully integrate them. But I think you will like them."

Wheeljack eagerly deposited one of the appendages into Prowl's hands and the tactician examined it critically, impressed by the careful work that had obviously gone into them. "Impressive." He said softly. "I am grateful you would do such painstaking labor on my behalf."

Those facial fins flickered again. "I don't often get to work with sensory panels as sophisticated as these." Then the mech froze, shooting a quick glance at Ratchet before leaning a fraction closer and dropping his tone. "I added a buffer to the pain sensors in these beauties. It shouldn't interfere with their normal functioning, but if for some reason you find yourself spending the night in a Decepticon holding cell again, they won't be as vulnerable a weakness."

When Prowl just stared at him in disbelief, Wheeljack quickly shook his head, waving his hand desperately. "Not that I _want_ anything like that to happen to ya or anything. No, no, no. Not at all. I'm just saying… you know '_if.' _That's all."

"I understand." Prowl was quick to reassure. "I appreciate the effort."

The engineer beamed at him and then sobered, tilting his helm to one side, his optics darting from the doorwing Prowl was holding to the armor of that same arm. When the mech frowned slightly, seeming to become suddenly very nervous, Prowl asked softly. "Is something wrong?"

"Um… well…" Facial fins flickered slightly and there was a very faint whirr as his cooling fans kicked on to help bring his core temperature down as it heated from what Prowl took to be acute distress. "I had to recreate the paint based on some of the fragments of pigment left on the original wings. I… uh, thought I got it right, but comparing it to the paint on your arms I realize I did not quite get the shade exactly perfect..."

Blinking Prowl glanced down at the doorwing in his hands and more closely examined the paint. There was a very, _very_ slight difference between the two; one only perceivable with a detailed scan. He understood the reason almost immediately. "The paint sample you obtained was tainted."

"Y… yes. Most likely." The larger mech ducked his helm slightly in apology, fingers twitching nervously. "I'm sorry, I shoulda been more careful, I…"

"It is more than adequate." Prowl said quickly. "You have done a remarkable job and I am most grateful. Thank you, Wheeljack."

Bright blue optics blinked at him and then Wheeljack smiled brightly and gingerly set the second doorwing down on the berth Ratchet had instructed him to. Not wanting the engineer to feel put on the spot, Prowl silently handed the other doorwing over before Wheeljack had to ask for it.

Wheeljack flashed him a somewhat nervous grin and then left once he had deposited the second sensory panel. Prowl watched him leave and then returned his attention to his doorwings.

As if reading his unspoken thoughts, Ratchet approached, First Aid in tow. Prowl would have had to have been blind not to miss the younger medic's hopeful and excited expression.

His optic ridge quirked upward slightly. "How many doorwings have you installed, First Aid?" He asked without a hint of concern.

First Aid faltered ever so slightly and then seemed to shrug it off. "None."

Ratchet looked at his apprentice sharply, almost as if in rebuke and the white and red medic flinched slightly. Speaking quickly, hoping to keep First Aid from getting in trouble with his mentor, Prowl allowed his lip plate's to twitch in the barest hint of an amused smile. "Indeed. It appears as if that is about to change."

Ratchet looked back at him, almost surprised and then gathered himself. "Seeing as this will be a learning experience for First Aid, do you wish to be sedated or offlined for the installation?"

Prowl shook his helm. "Not necessary, Ratchet."

"Are you sure…" Ratchet began, looking almost aghast.

"Yes."

The medics exchanged a look and then seemed to come to a simultaneous, if grudging, acceptance of the request. Prowl almost smirked. He had survived Slipshod's torture and Springer's emergency amputation. Installation at the hands of two skilled medics would be a walk in a crystal garden by comparison.

… … …

It had taken almost a joor of painstaking, careful work to reinstall Prowl's doorwings. Each sensor feed had to be spliced back into the appropriate relay on his back. Each system then had to be checked and configured. Then the remaining damage to his dorsal plating had to be repaired. But it was done expertly and, as he had expected, without much undue discomfort.

Once the two medics were finished, they mobilized the extremities and stepped back to watch. Receiving a permissive nod from Ratchet, Prowl slipped off the berth to stand on his own pedes for the first time in roughly two orns. Experimentally, Prowl flicked each doorwing separately, then both of them together. Motor control seemed to be functioning just fine. Then, carefully he initialized the sensory integration.

Sensation and data suddenly bombarded him and he belatedly toned down the overall sensorys feed, though that would only do so much as there was no way to shut it off completely. Not all of the sensory nodes were transmitting at the same intensity or clarity and the result was rather disconcerting and a little unbalancing. It would not last long, he knew from experience, but it was rather distracting until his systems could equalize everything.

"I saw that." Ratchet pointed a finger at him. "If that processor ache doesn't right itself, or those sensor nodes don't integrate fully by this time next orn, you had better be back in here so I can run a diagnostic. Understood?"

Though there was no doubt of Ratchet's sincerity, and no question that if he failed to heed to the request and Ratchet found out, that the results would be uncomfortable; Prowl thought he could detect genuine concern – or at the very least _interest _– in his wellbeing.

"Understood, sir. I will comply." He bowed his helm. "And thank you again for your hard work in seeing to my repairs. Both of you."

Ratchet blinked, caught off guard. "You are welcome. But…" He crossed his arms over his chassis. "As you are no longer damaged, you are cordially invited to _leave_ my med bay. Been here too long already. But, you are prohibited from strenuous physical activity for three more orns and strenuous mental activity for the rest of _this_ orn. Otherwise, get out."

"Yes, sir." Prowl looked at First Aid to see the junior medic was trying to hide a smirk. "Well done, First Aid. My thanks."

As if on cue, the med bay doors hissed open to allow Jazz to saunter in. Ratchet just rolled his optics and turned away, First Aid following closely ready with questions about the procedure they had just completed.

"Heya Prowler, you look a lot better than ya did the last time I saw ya." The saboteur smirked. "Ya just look plain _weird_ without ya doorwings."

Startled by the friendly, conversational tone, though he quickly recognized it as similar to the one Jazz had used in the rec room before his last mission. Feeling decidedly upbeat with his new doorwings finally attached and being allowed to leave the med bay, Prowl gave into the impulse to reply in kind. "You appeared 'weird' when I did not have them as well, I assure you, Jazz."

Jazz blinked at him, faceplate going slack for just an astrosecond before he chuckled. "Ya know, ya are better at that than I woulda thought possible. Come on, before the Hatchet decides to start chucking wrenches at us 'cause we overstayed our welcome."

"I heard that!" Ratchet shouted from the far side of the med bay.

"Slag!" Jazz darted for the door and, with a barely controlled, amused smirk, Prowl followed at a more dignified pace.

Once out in the corridor, Jazz moved at a more normal speed. Out of respect for the Saboteur's rank and status, as well as Jazz's personal authority over his own probation, Prowl carefully matched his gate to the silver minibot's.

After a few moments, walking in relatively comfortable silence, Prowl finally broke it with a carefully polite: "Where are we going?"

"Ta get some energon." Was Jazz's grinned reply. Prowl was about to object that he did not need additional fuel as he had been on an energon drip for two orns, but Jazz waved any objections aside. "I know ya have been on a drip, but it ain't the same."

With a somewhat awkward acquiescing nod, Prowl allowed the saboteur to lead him into the Autobots' rec room.

The rec room was only moderately crowded when they arrived and while he and Jazz were given cursory attention, it was not like it was when Prowl would go to the lounge alone. Jazz waved jauntily to a few other mechs as they passed and the waves were awkwardly returned as the individuals in question glanced from Jazz to Prowl in confusion before quickly returning to their own business.

Prowl was given the distinct impression that Jazz was the reason he was not given more suspicious looks and that _he_ was the reason Jazz was not greeted more enthusiastically. A glance at the saboteur showed the silver mech was not bothered by that so Prowl chose not to be either. However, something just seemed… off about the jauntiness and utterly carefree way Jazz greeted his fellow Autobots. It did not match the mech he had come to know.

Suspicious he watched Jazz carefully as they gathered their Energon and headed for a table in the back corner of the room. The outer edges of that strange-easygoing appearance faded away to reveal the slight edge to Jazz that Prowl was more familiar with.

"It is a show, isn't it." He asked softly after a few moments. When Jazz looked at him curiously, Prowl nodded toward the others occupying the rec room. "For them. You aren't truly as carefree as you portray yourself to be."

Jazz stared at him for a moment as if silently debating with himself just how honest he should be. Then, with an almost visible mental shrug, he leaned forward. "I'm happy enough most a tha time. But you're right, that's all most 'Bots get ta see."

Prowl cocked his head ever so slightly to the side, wondering why that was but not feeling at liberty to ask such a personal question. This was the head of Autobot Intelligence, after all. It would not be seemly for an ex-Decepticon, a POW, to question such a mech. Prowl looked aside, remembering that darker side of Jazz; not that he could completely forget in any case. And immediately thought he understood, remembering Jazz's seeming struggle to decide to be completely honest with him the last time they shared energon together.

It was not the deliberate decision to mislead, but the deliberate decision not to let his guard down.

"But I am safe." He said quietly, watching the saboteur carefully. "I already know those things most mechs never see."

Jazz straightened at that, his gaze becoming so sharp it was almost physically felt, even through his visor. Fearing he might have offended the saboteur in voicing such an assumption, Prowl averted his gaze, reverting to formality as a form of sanctuary. "I am also a prisoner of war and I know my opinion of your interpersonal life is of no consequence. I do not mean to offend…"

Jazz's demeanor, even if not his optics as they were still shielded behind his visor, morphed swiftly into something resembling irritation. And he leaned forward. "I don't care if you are a POW. There is no…"

Jazz suddenly sat up straight, falling silent; an almost relaxed smirk finding dominance with uncanny swiftness a moment after Prowl had glanced to the side. The tactician was aware that Moonracer had just entered the lounge and her arrival caused him to miss the moment Jazz' expression actually changed. Realizing he had allowed himself to become distracted by the femme's entrance he returned his attention to Jazz, ducking his doorwings apologetically, waiting for him to continue. Only he did not.

Moonracer's almost timid approach to their table explained why Jazz said nothing more for the moment and Prowl turned his attention back to the sniper.

"Hiya, Moonracer. Good orn?" Jazz called out, waving a greeting.

Moonracer glanced at the saboteur and smiled, relaxing slightly at his open friendliness, before looking back at Prowl.

Uncomfortable at the display of nervousness, especially since the femme had been so boldly antagonistic during their last mission, Prowl was careful to keep his posture nonthreatening and a hint submissive. "Good orn, Moonracer."

"Um… you too." She said hesitantly then glanced at Jazz again before taking another small step toward them. "I… uh… just wanted to say, um 'thank you' for what you did. Out there." One hand waved weakly in the general direction of the camp perimeter.

Of what exactly was he being thanked for? Prowl was not sure. Whatever it was, it felt… wrong. He had done nothing more than his duty and what his ethical programs required of him. Still, he had to be polite. "There is no need to thank me."

She looked like she was not sure how to respond. Then, with another visible gathering of her courage she looked him in the optic for a brief moment. "I also wanted to tell you I… I'm sorry."

Before either mech could respond, she whirled on her heels and retreated from the rec room entirely.

Prowl watched her go, his gaze lingering on the door even after it closed behind her, only to feel Jazz's gaze on him. He turned his attention back to the Saboteur.

"Well, that was odd." Was Jazz's inflectionless statement.

Prowl nodded. "Indeed. Perhaps someorn she will be inclined to clarify what it was about."

Jazz snorted air through his olfactory vents. "Maybe. But then she _is_ a femme." His gaze was still intense, though now somewhat amused. "You honestly don't have a clue?"

Prowl let his engine rev slightly in embarrassment and irritation at Jazz's almost mocking, amused tone. "No. Should I?"

At that Jazz actually chuckled and the underlying tension that had lent him an almost dangerous feel evaporated slightly. "I suppose not, mech. I suppose not."

"Do you?" Prowl asked curiously.

"Now, wouldn't _that_ be telling." Jazz took another swig from his energon cube, draining the contents then looked at him again and deflated slightly. "Well, alright. No, not really."

Prowl cocked an optic ridge as he too finished his cube.

"So… what was I sayin'?" Jazz ventured after a few awkward moments of silence.

Prowl was not fooled; Jazz had not lost track of their previous conversation. This was simply an attempt to appear more at ease, though it did not seem to be the same as the front he had affected for Moonracer. It did not feel as… _false._

Nonetheless, Prowl obliged the intriguingly complicated mech and cleared his vents, speaking with a slight dip of his doorwings. "I believe you were about to reprimand me for speaking presumptuously."

"I…was?" Jazz just stared at him, lower jaw hanging slightly slack. It was an almost blank expression that made Prowl even more uncomfortable. He resisted the urge to shift in his seat as Jazz straightened slightly, clearly reviewing his memory files of their conversation. He could see the moment Jazz understood why he had said that as his helm jerked backward slightly.

Prowl was too nervous to say anything else, though he showed none of that. He managed not to wince when Jazz reached out and touched his freshly repaired shoulder with surprisingly gentle talon-like claws. "Naw mech. I wasn't reprimandin' ya or anythin'. Not at all. I was goin' ta say that it doesn't matter if ya are a POW, ya don't have to apologize for speakin' the truth. There is nothing wrong with ya saying it like ya see it."

"You were clearly irritated." Prowl said cautiously, silently asking for clarification, trying not to let his growing confusion show and knowing he was failing miserably.

Jazz gave him a somewhat rueful grin in return. "I was. Yes, ya are still a POW and all that entails, but that isn't _all_ that ya are around here. Not any more."

Prowl blinked, even more taken aback by that assertion and felt the pressure in his processors grow into a sudden, sharp pain before fading again. Jazz was grinning at him once more, clearly finding something amusing in his utter bafflement. Those were words Prowl had hoped for, and despaired, of ever hearing. And it felt far too soon for him to be hearing them.

He had still not been able to form any words in his vocalizer, still not entirely sure _what_ words would even be appropriate, when Jazz apparently decided it was time to move on.

"Well, duty calls. I gotta go." The silver minibot popped to his pedes.

Prowl stood when Jazz did and followed the silver saboteur out into the corridor. Once there, Jazz turned toward him again and Prowl noted that every ounce of casualness was gone. This was Jazz, his overseer, the head of Autobot Intelligence and Spec Ops and Autobot Command senior officer, who was speaking.

Prowl straightened slightly out of respectful habit as Jazz addressed him. "According to Ratchet you are on leave for the rest a tha orn. Tomorrow, however you _will_ report to briefing room five beta at the start of the first shift for your next assignment. Got it?"

"Yes sir." Prowl answered evenly, though a part of him wanted to seethe in frustration that he would not be given more time to either spend with Bluestreak or to recover before being sent back into the field. Ratchet had said he should avoid strenuous activity for three orns, but he supposed, given his status, that did not matter. It would not be the first time he had been sent out before his repairs had finalized.

"And Ironhide wants you to contact him as soon as you have a chance." With that, Jazz was gone.

Prowl continued to stare dumbly as the minibot rounded a corner. Why was Ironhide not simply initiating contact with him? And why have such a message delivered through Jazz?

Suddenly realizing he had not so much as cycled air for half a breem, Prowl shook himself and decided a visit to the training rooms to meditate was in order before picking up Bluestreak. Taking a deep vent, he decided to get the unpleasantness over with, although a part of him worried that a discussion with Ironhide would only again usher in yet _another_ painful occasion. He opened a comm. channel. _/Prowl to Ironhide./_

The response was instantaneous. _/Ironhide here. What is it?/_

Prowl blinked. _/Jazz informed me that you wished me to contact you at my earliest convenience./_

He could all but hear the larger mech's harrumph. _/And you are just now doing so?/_

_/I was only just informed./_ Prowl was careful not to come across as defensive, keeping his mental tone deferential.

_/Yes, well, did he happen to tell you when to report for your next assignment?/_ Ironhide seemed irritated regardless of his efforts.

_/Tomorrow, first shift, briefing room five beta./_ Prowl supplied immediately.

There was another inarticulate transmission from Ironhide before the weapon specialist continued. _/Good. Did Smokescreen happen to come see you?/_

_/He did./_ Prowl confirmed, growing even more discomfited at the tenor and direction of this conversation.

There was a momentary pause. _/Hound's report stated that you recommended that they deliver you back to the Decepticons, giving them a 68-something percent chance of getting the rest of them out alive. Why would you do a slagging thing like that?/_

Ironhide sounded genuinely frustrated, and the question made Prowl stop walking. He frowned slightly. _/Moonracer made it very clear she did not wish to die fighting for my sake. And, at the time, that option had the highest chance of the three of them making it out alive./_

There was a long moment of incredulous silence on the weapon specialist's end of the signal before he responded. _/But you defeated the 'Con slaggers, with nearly five to one odds./_

Prowl thought he understood and relief flooded his wires as he was able to continue walking toward his destination. _/There were many variables impacting the calculated odds of such a defense succeeding at the time. Whether or not any plan I had would be accepted, whether or not they would have allowed me to use their sensory uplinks, whether or not they would be willing to follow my calls during the battle. At the time I made that specific recommendation, I had very little confidence any of the above would be allowed./_

Prowl keyed open the door to the training room and entered, letting it slide shut behind him. _/Thus, based on the apparent situation, it was the option with the highest known probability of letting them get out of the situation alive and relatively undamaged. And, if that option __**had**__ been chosen, then it would have meant there was virtually no chance that the conditions necessary to make a defense possible would have been met. In which case, as my end would have eventually been the same in any case, it would have been better to at least find a way that would spare their lives./_

Prowl accessed the room's control panel and pulled out his cord. He held it for just an astrosecond, pinched between two fingers, before plugging into the controls and uploading the program he wished to use.

_/You mean it was the most logical thing to do./_

_/Yes, because it had the highest chance of everyone surviving, based on the information I had at the time./_ Prowl answered wondering why Ironhide was having such a difficult time understanding that.

There was another thoughtful pause. _/Based on the available information and the tools available at the time, sending you on that mission had the highest chance of everyone surviving too./_

Prowl froze, even as the beautiful, dazzling brilliance of the crystal garden that had been attached to his master's dojo slowly took shape around him. Ironhide was confirming Smokescreen's assertion. It did not make the experience any more comfortable, but it did help him put it into perspective. _/It was the most logical thing to do./_

/Yes./

Prowl released a long vent of air and shuttered his optics briefly, letting the recreated subsonic hum of the living crystals flow through his frame soothingly. _/Understood…/_ He hesitated, carefully choosing his words. _/If that was so, had such information been given to me I would have likely volunteered for the mission. You would not have had to order me to go./_ In other words, they would not have had to trap him with his own ethical programming.

By the strained silence from Ironhide, the larger, black mech had received the unspoken message. _/Perhaps. But that was not a chance we could afford to take at the time. There was too much at stake and that was one variable we could not afford to leave to chance./_

Prowl drew in and vented another draft of air. Yes, it was an admission that he had been used, that his _programming_ had been used and that at least Ironhide had been very much aware of that fact. And while he might have been tempted to be angry at that, he remembered his own promise, that he would serve wherever he was needed. If he had truly been needed…

But this way, the way it had actually happened, he had found himself restrained by orders, not _strictly_ his own programming. In a way, that made it a little more bearable. Despite Jazz's offer, if he had truly been the most logical choice – had he known that before hand – he would never have even asked the saboteur to confirm the assignment. He would have gone, just as he had, only for different reasons.

He suddenly remembered Ironhide was waiting for his response. _/I understand./_

_/It was __**my**__ call, Prowl./_

Prowl sucked in another sharp intake of air, instantly deducing what Ironhide was saying, or rather _not_ saying. _/The Prime was not involved./_

There was a strong negating echo across the channel, almost a warning. _/No./_

Prowl nearly recoiled at the force behind that word and wondered why Ironhide was so adamant. Then it hit him and he ducked his helm, even though he was alone in the training room, regardless of whether he was being monitored. _/It would not have mattered, either way, Ironhide. I…/_

Prowl stopped himself. Did he truly mean what he had been about to say? The concept was so foreign, so alien, so… dangerous. But his ethical subroutines would not let him tell a superior officer an untruth and _they_ had not prevented him from speaking. His own fears had prevented him from continuing. With a steadying clearing of his vents, Prowl continued, transmitting the words his Spark felt even though his processor tried to throw up a myriad of reasons in opposition.

_/I trust that if the Prime would have allowed that then there must have been a good reason. I do not believe he would allow any mech's life to be thrown away uselessly or without good cause./_ It was out, even though Prowl's spark was thundering in his audios. _/Even if I was not trusted with those reasons. If it was done behind the Prime's back, then I accept that as well. It changes nothing from my perspective./_

Ironhide was another long moment in answering. _/You are remarkably generous./_

Prowl released a rueful snort of air through his vents. _/The only other choice I have is not an option./_

_/You have a choice as to who you ally yourself with./_ Ironhide's voice had regained a touch of guarded sharpness.

_/True./_ Prowl saw no point in denying that aspect of his revamped programming. _/But even that option is tempered by Ratchet's tracer coding. No. Regardless, I made a decision to help defeat Megatron no matter what sacrifice that might require./_

This time Ironhide was so long in answering, Prowl almost assumed he had cut the connection, except that the tell-tale buzz of an open line still filled his end of the transmission. Assuming the weapon specialist needed time to process that last statement, Prowl turned back to the hologram around him and walked to a small clearing in the softly glowing garden in which a low metal platform had been placed, a small energon fountain bubbling tranquilly at the base of the oldest and largest crystal formation in the garden. The glow of the liquid energy was reflected and enhanced by the surrounding crystals, the sound mingling with the song of those same crystals to create a space perfect for meditation.

He had stepped onto the platform before Ironhide spoke again. _/I see. And if we believe you are too compromised now and chose to shut you down completely?/_

Prowl's systems froze. Did Ironhide mean shut down his ability to aid the Autobots; rescinding his probationary status? Or did he mean shut _him_ down personally, as in forced stasis or deactivation?

Not that it mattered, he realized an instant later. He was still painfully aware of his place among the Autobots, even with Jazz's offer of relative protection. With a resigned release of air he shuttered his optics and replied. _/It does not matter. My status is still that of a POW. I acknowledge you have the right to do whatever you wish./ _

_/Somehow, I knew you would say that./_ Ironhide's digital 'voice' sounded almost satisfied. _/Don't worry, that isn't going to happen, not any time soon and not over this. I just wanted to see what you would say./_

Prowl frowned. _/If you knew what I would say, what is the point in asking the question?/_ Realizing how impertinent that might sound, Prowl hurried to tack on a quick, _/Sir./_

Ironhide actually chuckled at that. _/Because knowing and __**knowing**__ are not always the same thing./_

Prowl felt a sharp stab of pain in his processors at that statement. _/Sir?/_

_/Never mind. I want your report on the mission before your briefing tomorrow./_ Ironhide did not even give Prowl a chance to reply before he continued, sounding slightly more subdued. _/And, for what it is worth, I'm sorry./_

For some reason Prowl found that he was irritated with the apology and it took him a moment to realize _why._ He responded before he thought about the questionable wisdom of doing so. _/I am not the one you should apologize to./_

_/Excuse me?/_ Ironhide sounded equally taken aback and angered at having been addressed in that 'tone.'

With a weary vent of air, Prowl internally acknowledged that it was to late to withdraw the statement, so he chose to follow it through, even if he was more careful to modulate his transmission in such a way that signaled respect and neutral submission. _/This is what I mean, sir./_

Instead of attempting to explain, never having been comfortable discussing the finer points of emotional sentiment, Prowl chose to transmit his own audio and visual files of Bluestreak's recent breakdown.

Ironhide's protracted silence afterward indicated he was reviewing the file. It was nearly an entire breem before the large black mech responded. Prowl took that time to settle into a properly meditative posture on the metal deck, facing the fountain, though he did not attempt to begin cycling his systems down, not wanting to be distracted when, or if, Ironhide responded.

When the response finally came, it was noticeably more subdued. _/Point taken./_

_/Yes, sir./_ Prowl replied respectfully, deliberately not bringing it up again, having made his point. _/I shall have your report ready as ordered./_

Ironhide signaled his understanding. And then the line was cut. Only then did Prowl allow himself to worry about what the possible consequences such boldness on his part might have.

… … …

Prowl took several joors to meditate, using the opportunity to center his spark and processors. During that time he allowed his self-repair programs finish buffering the areas were Slipshod had managed to damage his firewalls. But that damage was extremely minor and most had been 'fixed' before he had been onlined in the Autobot med bay. If Ratchet had waited until then to enter his processor instead of doing so in the immediate aftermath of the battle to confirm his deletion of Moonracer's uplink codes, he would likely have found little evidence of their attempted hacks.

Even so, that work was secondary to the work of fully integrating his new doorwings. Yes, seven knew sensory arrays would normally take time, but thankfully, such a task was well suited for meditation. Or rather meditative states were well suited for letting him rush the process without incurring any of the normal deleterious effects doing so might incur.

As Prowl proceeded to methodically align each sensor node, harmonizing their input and synchronizing their relays the world around him crystallized into the sharp precision he was used to. More so, even. It appeared that two of the sensor nodes, one in each wing, were not the typical sensory apparatus a ground-bound mech would have. Rather they were refitted and specially formatted sensor akin to what a seeker would have. The type of sensor that allowed them to see the world around them in diamond sharpness even when traveling at supersonic speeds.

Curious.

Hesitantly, Prowl reached out with his now fully integrated sensors and could tell that yes, his reach was significantly further and much finer. Frowning slightly he checked his power consumption and utilization logs and his control systems. While there was a miniscule uptick in his power consumption over all, they were not threatening to deprive any other system, most likely thanks to one of the modifications Wheeljack had made to them. The only other anomaly was that it was requiring additional processing power to utilize the increased sensory feed.

Prowl frowned slightly, while he appreciated the upgrade, it bothered him as to whether or not Wheeljack had actually taken into consideration the additional strain on his systems and if the engineer was truly familiar enough with his systems to be confident he could handle it, or if that aspect had been a potential oversight on the Autobot's part. Because if the non-standard sensors had been too much for his control systems, the results could have been…disastrous.

For a brief moment, Prowl entertained the possibility that it had been intentional, but he brushed that aside. It did not fit the pattern he was noticing in the Autobots' behavior in general. And, his brief interaction with the engineer suggested a mech that tended toward distracted enthusiasm rather than intentional maliciousness.

Satisfied with that reasoning, Prowl turned back to the only true potential problem he had detected; the amount of processing power required to utilize the new scanners. It was not egregious, but it would prove significant if he had to perform a multi-level, highly complicated tactical plan, especially one with constantly changing variables such as what he had done during his last mission. Others might not be bothered by the small reduction in processing efficiency, but Prowl would not settle for such a reduction in his ability to perform his function.

He would need to speak to Wheeljack, although the thought of letting the engineer work on his doorwings, let alone his processor, was less than pleasant, especially now. Ratchet then? Probably the best choice, except he had no idea whether it would set the fiery medic's temper off at him again.

He drew in a deep vent of air and released it. Better to face Ratchet's possible fury than to be at less than his peek performance when he reported for his assignment the next orn.

With that dubious consolation, Prowl stood. He deactivated the holographic garden and then exited the training room. He contacted Ratchet, careful to be as respectful as possible. _/Prowl to Ratchet./_

The medic's reply was almost immediate. _/What is it Prowl?/_

Phrasing his words carefully, Prowl answered. _/I have discovered a…distribution anomaly with my new doorwings and was hopeful you would examine the issue./_

_/Critical?/_

_/Significant./_ Prowl answered honestly, realizing he might be stuck based on the regulation concerning non-critical use of resources on probationary mechs. _/But only critical to the optimal performance of my function as a tactician, not to my overall existence./_

Ratchet hesitated a moment and Prowl could almost hear his weary ex-vent. _/What kind of anomaly?/_

Taking in another drag of air, Prowl explained. Ratchet was silent for a long time and Prowl was not sure if that was a good thing or a bad. Most likely he was contacting Wheeljack, so Prowl waited patiently. When Ratchet did finally reply it was with a combination of exasperation, amusement and irritation. _/Primus, that mech. Alright, Prowl. Get your aft to the med bay./_

_/Yes sir./_ Prowl acknowledged the order and swiftly made his way there.

He was greeted in the medical ward by Ratchet, First Aid ever at his side, and… Wheeljack.

The inventor was the first to speak, almost tripping over his own words. "I'm so sorry Prowl, I did not consider the drain on processing demand. I knew you had the power capability to support the sensors and everything. I just wasn't thinking… I can remove those sensors, please don't be angry…"

Prowl lifted a hand in a calming gesture, gratified that at least First Aid and Ratchet did not react negatively to the gesture even if Wheeljack winced slightly. "I am not angry, Wheeljack."

"…because I can… what?" The multi-colored mech stumbled to a stop, blinking. "You aren't angry with me?"

Prowl gently touched his fingers to the larger mech's arm before letting his hand fall back to his side. It was an unusually sentimental gesture and one he would normally only reserve for younglings, but the engineer just seemed so… earnest. "No, I am not angry, Wheeljack. In fact I appreciate the upgrades. I was… only hoping a way could be found so that I do not loose processing ability for my function."

Wheeljack blinked rapidly, his facial fins first lighting up with relieved happiness and then dimming slightly in thoughtfulness. "Hmm… Well, I didn't think about this because it is imbedded in Seeker programming and is considered an automatic system adjustment for them, but you aren't a Seeker, so of course you aren't able to actively adjust the intensity of their feed levels… beyond harmonizing them to your overall sensory network."

"Of course!" First Aid was grinning, looking at his mentor. "Seekers adjust their sensors based on their speed, right? The faster they are flying the more acute their sensors need to be. Why can't we allow Prowl to do something like that? A patch maybe? To isolate those specific sensors so he doesn't have to make himself blind?"

"I know the coding." Wheeljack volunteered.

Ratchet hesitated then held a hand out toward the engineer, a datapad appearing out of subspace. "Here, let me see what you have."

Wheeljack nodded eagerly and took the pad and began typing furiously on it then he held it out to Ratchet who, instead of taking it merely stepped up to peer over Wheeljack's shoulder. Soon the two were bickering back and forth or… collaborating if Prowl thought to be generous.

He exchanged a look with First Aid and received an almost helpless shrug. Thankfully it was not long before Ratchet turned back to him with a triumphant grin. The pleased flicker of Wheeljack's fins only added to the almost surreal moment for Prowl. First Aid's quick grab and perusal of the datapad and resulting happy smile did not help any either. Nonetheless, Prowl moved to the berth he was directed to and sat on it.

"Okay, I'm going to need access to the relay panel and then I'm going to need access to the control codes for the sensor feeds." Prowl nodded, somewhat uneasily, and did not protest when skilled fingers immobilized his doorwings and then slid aside the access panel to the sensor relay controls. Something was tweaked there and then suddenly his frame was released and Ratchet was circling around in front of him.

Prowl hesitated then, but at the medic's expectant look, he granted wary access to his port and then to the control codes for his doorwings. He watched suspiciously as new codes were added and existing code was adjusted to accommodate the changes. Then, when Ratchet mentally 'stood back,' Prowl examined the medic's work.

"Try rerouting power and lowering the intensity level of those Seeker scanners." Ratchet ordered.

With a jerk of his helm, Prowl did so. Immediately he felt the sharpness of the world surrounding him dim to what he was accustomed to and a quick diagnostic confirmed that his processors were back to their optimum level. He released the sensors, sharpening their focus and then looked at the medic. While his excited relief did not show in his face, the medic could clearly pick it up across the hardline connection.

Ratchet smiled, withdrawing his cord and putting it away. "There you go."

Prowl quickly tagged the new and changed codes as accepted system modifications so that his malware programs would not undo Ratchet's efforts. "Thank you Ratchet. Thank you Wheeljack. I am much obliged."

"Not at all." Wheeljack said with a grin. "I shoulda thought of that earlier. So… do you like them?"

Prowl nodded to the engineer. "Indeed. I find the crispness and added clarity… engaging."

Wheeljack was about to respond when the med bay doors hissed open and Bluestreak rushed in. He paused momentarily in the entrance, quickly scanning the room with his optics before spotting Prowl and running up to him. Blue and gray youngling collided with black legs and hung on tightly.

"Why are you back in the med bay? Are you injured? Because you said there was nothing to worry about while you were on the base, that nothing would hurt you here and Ironhide said you had been released from the med bay but you weren't in our quarters and when Chromia checked you were here. You aren't injured are you? Of course you aren't, you don't look injured. But if you aren't injured what are you doing in the med bay?"

Small vents were heaving in distress and Prowl took the opportunity and spoke into a momentary pause, stroking one doorwing soothingly. "I am perfectly fine, Bluestreak. I am not in the med bay because of any injury, but rather Wheeljack and Ratchet have adjusted an upgrade I was given during my recent repairs."

"Oh…" Bluestreak paused, processing that statement, then his optics brightened. "An upgrade? Oooh, what kind?"

First Aid, Ratchet and Wheeljack all chuckled at the youngling's innocent excitement for his caretaker. Even Prowl allowed the ghost of a smile to touch his lip plates. "Come, I shall explain on the way back to our quarters."

"Yes!" Bluestreak reached forward and claimed one of Prowl's hands with his own and then proceeded to all but pull the older Praxian toward the door. They passed a bemused Chromia who was leaning her left hip and shoulder against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chassis.

True to his word, Prowl explained about the new sensors and the problem he had detected and the fix Ratchet and Wheeljack had just installed. Then he answered the torrent of questions as to how his perception of the world had changed since he had integrated them. He was amazed at Bluestreak's ability to abstractly comprehend what he was telling him, his demands for detailed descriptions and the technical accuracy with-which he was able to communicate. Prowl had the suspicion that when it came time for Bluestreak to upgrade into his adult frame, he would probably demand a similar set of sensors.

Once they reached their quarters, Prowl was met with yet another surprise. There, sitting on his desk in a conspicuous manner were the very paints the Autobots had confiscated upon his capture.

* * *

_I blame Jazz for this chapter taking so long to get posted. I had wanted it up by Friday, but obviously that didn't happen. It was his fault, he was just being so stubron and difficult and not cooperating during his conversation with Prowl. :) _

_I know everyone wanted to see more Optimus/Prowl and Optimus POV and don't worry, that will be coming in the next chapter. The response to the last chapter was absolutely amazing, and I wanted to thank every single one of you!_


	22. Progress

_Hello everyone. I apologize for the delay but I have been sick for the last week. And this time it wasn't the "Ooh, I get to stay home from work and lay around taking flu meds and that will let me get some writing done" type of sick. It was the miserable, "Who cares that you aren't feeling good, its just a sinus infection, get your aft out of bed and go to work; you aren't contagious" type of sick. So, as you can imagine, after 10 hours at work: I came home and… slept. So… no writing or editing. That is also why I haven't really responded to anyone's reviews and why I am behind in… a lot of things. *pout*_

_Anyway, still not feeling all that hot… but I decided, for better or worse, to get this out anyway. __**Warning**__: Half of this chapter was written and __**all**__ of the editing was done under the influence of excessive antihistamines and decongestants, a fever and generalized uckiness._

* * *

Prowl smiled fractionally as he walked down the corridor toward Chromia's quarters, Bluestreak's hand grasped lightly in his. The previous night had been a learning experience for both him and the youngling…

_Bluestreak had seen the paint at almost the same moment Prowl had. The youngling dropped his hand and dashed toward the desk. Prowl watched, bemused and still trying to get over his own surprise, as the youngling picked up first the black and then the white paint container, peering with keen intensity at the label of each. He inspected each container closely before turning to look at Prowl._

"_These are your colors." The mechling stated at last looking up at Prowl curiously as the adult stepped up next to him._

"_Yes, they are." Prowl confirmed._

"_Are they your paints?" _

_Prowl looked down at large optics staring up at him innocently and nodded. "Yes."_

_Bluestreak's expression turned thoughtful, looking back at the paint for a nanosecond before gazing back up at his guardian. "If they are yours, where have they been all this time?"_

_Prowl released a tired vent and lowered himself to Bluestreak's level, his processors racing to find an appropriate way to explain. "We have discussed what I was when we were first rescued from the ruins of Praxus." _

_Large blue optics turned away and Prowl felt the slight vibrations of a silent keen brush against his frame. Instinctively, he made a soft crooning purr with his engine and pulled Bluestreak close. Unable to think of anything useful he could say, he simply let Bluestreak find shelter in his embrace and strength in his presence._

"_They were really mean to you." The blue and gray youngling murmured into Prowl's plating. "I was so afraid… and then they took me away from you. I… I didn't mean to hurt you like that. I really didn't, but they were taking me away and you had saved me and I didn't want to leave you, and they had been so mean to you, I was afraid and then I got mad at you and…I'm sorry."_

_Prowl stroked the youngling between his doorwings, realizing he was referring to their separation in Praxus before being brought to Iacon and then their initial reunion. "I know." The little form continued to tremble slightly and Prowl tried to deduce what else was bothering him. "Bluestreak, you have nothing to be sorry about."_

_Wide optics blinked up at him, wet with lubricant before he admitted in a trembling whisper, almost as if in apology. "I miss them, Prowl. A lot."_

_His deceased creators. _

_Prowl felt his own systems hitch. He nodded, doorwings drooping and flaring slightly in sympathy and he brushed his hand against Bluestreak's back, letting the tip of his helm lightly touch the younglings. "That is normal." Prowl reassured softly. "You love them and there is nothing wrong with that."_

"_But you have been so nice to me…" Bluestreak whimpered, snuggling closer to Prowl's spark while simultaneously trying to push away._

"_And I will continue to do so." Prowl reassured the troubled youngling. "You grieving your creators will not change that." He paused. "You don't need to face this alone."_

_Bluestreak continued to look at him for a long moment and then, burying his face against Prowl's chassis, the younger Praxian finally allowed himself to weep. No anger or half-directed aggression this time, just pure, raw grief. And, as promised, Prowl never left him, continuing to hold him close as the raging tide of sorrow finally started to heal._

_Nearly a joor later, spent by his grief, Bluestreak had finally slipped into recharge. It was not a deep recharge and Prowl suspected it would only last a joor or so at most. Carefully, he secured his arm around the now slumbering sparkling and lifted himself to sit in his chair. Taking a datapad from among the pile of those that had been returned to him, Prowl began working on his report for Ironhide. _

_The datapads were kept neatly stacked at the corner of his desk rather than in his subspace, as those controls were still locked down while he was on the base. Keeping them out in the open was also an unspoken captiulation to one of the more unpleasant, if peripheral realities of life as a prisoner – paroled or otherwise: the reality that he had no right to privacy and that his personal quarters could be searched at any time. That such a search had not happened yet, at least to his knowledge, was simply a pleasant aside to the reality._

_A joor and a half later, the soft sounds of Bluestreak's systems booting up brought Prowl's attention back to the form in his arms. _

"_Feeling better?" He asked as Bluestreak sat up, clinging to the plating of his armor as he balanced on the adult's thigh._

_Bluestreak nodded. "My mind is… clearer I think."_

_Prowl nodded, understanding. "Strong emotions can disrupt our logic centers. Burning off the excess emotional build up can help clear them." He spoke even quieter, looking at his charge carefully, at the way he refused to look him in the optic. Briefly he wished it was safe enough for him to activate his guardian subroutines. It would make this so much easier but he could not risk it, for both their sakes. "There is no shame in sparkfelt grief, Bluestreak. I will never think less of you for it."_

_Surprise and gratefulness lit the youngling's face as he slowly lifted blue optics to meet golden. "Thank you, Prowl."_

_Then a dazzling smile lit Bluestreak's faceplate as he leaned upward to gently bump his helm against Prowl's. "But you are so strong, you never show how much you are hurting or how sad you are. I want to be like you, but I can't do that if I'm crying all the time. Because you never weep, and I want you to be proud of me and I wasn't sure that you…"_

_Prowl gently touched Bluestreak on the helm with one finger, cutting off the rambling. "You do not need to emulate me to make me proud of you." He hesitated and then released a soft vent of air. "I do not suppress my emotions because I am strong, Bluestreak. I do so because I must; I have no other options."_

"_Why?"_

_Primus save him from younglings and their 'whys?' Prowl sought for a way to explain. "My processor… Bluestreak, the linkages between logic and emotions are not as strong in my processor as they are for most mechs. I must be careful or I might cause myself harm." What he said was true, but was not all there was to it. He intentionally did not want to burden Bluestreak with the realities of his status among the Autobots that made it simply to risky for him to broadcast his emotions._

"_Oh…" Bluestreak pondered this for a long moment, his optics falling down onto the desk. Then his head canted to the side and he glanced up at Prowl again. "What does that have to do with paint?"_

_Prowl blinked, completely thrown by the sudden jump in topic. "Paint?"_

"_Well… I had asked you what had happened with your paint and you said it had something to do with them being really mean to you when they found us in… out there… and then you said that you had to be careful showing emotions." Bluestreak looked up at him with as much innocence as a youngling could muster. "Do paints make you sad?"_

_Prowl blinked again, trying to make that make sense and failing miserably, the pain in his processors growing with the effort. Finally he deleted that reasoning loop, feeling the pressure in his processor fade immediately. "Ah… I do not believe they are so directly related as that."_

"_Oh." Bluestreak picked up the vial of white paint and looked at it again. "Then where have they been all this time?"_

_Prowl released another vent of air, not seeing a way out of this question and struggled to find a neutral way to explain. "I was a prisoner when we first came to Iacon."_

_Prowl restrained the urge to grimace, but his processor still felt muddled after Bluestreak's youngling attempt at logic. His level of tact was considerably less than was preferable. _

_But Bluestreak's optics brightened in understanding. "Oh, I get it. Is that why they were so mean to you? Why they stole your paint?"_

_Prowl's optics widened at the barely restrained anger in the little mechling's tone. He knew it would not be wise to encourage such thoughts, dimly aware of the monitoring equipment still in his chambers. Not that the devices mattered, it could be disastrous if Bluestreak repeated such statements around any of the Autobots in that Prowl would likely be blamed for teaching him 'Decepticon' ways. Besides, Prowl found he truly did not agree with Bluestreak's assessment of the situation._

"_They have not actually been mean to me." Prowl corrected gently. "Distrustful and fearful, yes but not without cause – as we have discussed. But they have not been evil. My paints were not 'stolen,' they were confiscated."_

_Bluestreak just stared at him blankly. "What is the difference?"_

_Prowl started to rattle off an answer but found that it died on his glossa. The technical differences were minor. Both words described the same action only one was illegal and the other legal. He doubted such an explanation would satisfy the youngling. _

_After a long moment he took in a slow vent of air and carefully chose his words. "Bluestreak, do you know why I was taken prisoner?"_

"_Because you were a Decepticon. An important one. And because the mechs at this base are fighting against the Decepticons and so they thought you were an enemy."_

"_Partially." Prowl searched Bluestreak's optics, wanting to ensure his charge understood his meaning, even if his words were uncomfortably frank. "I did a lot of things I now regret. I surrendered to them without a fight because of what the Decepticons did to our home. I realized I could not be part of that any more."_

_Wide blue optics grew thoughtful and then Bluestreak nodded, small doorwings drooping as he struggled to processes the implications of that statement, implications he just knew were there but were just beyond his ability to grasp. _

_Prowl returned the gesture and continued. "I have been an Enforcer far longer than I had been a Decepticon. I knew that, among other things, all of my possessions would be confiscated and I would not have tried to stop them either way."_

_Bluestreak's face scrunched up as he struggled to make Prowl's words make sense. "So… basically you gave your paints to them?"_

_Prowl's vents hitched momentarily at that jump in reasoning. "Perhaps a better way to consider the difference is this. If they had been stolen, I would have tried to get them back. But as they were legally confiscated, I had no cause to do so."_

"_Uh…" Blue optics brightened and Bluestreak nearly jumped up and down in his excitement. "So, they weren't stolen, you let them take the paints because you surrendered rather than continue to be one of those evil Decepticons… and to prove that, you didn't fight to keep them." _

_Prowl blinked, this time in surprise that the youngling's reasoning had gone from almost painful to something passably accurate. "Indeed. That is a fair assessment."_

_Bluestreak beamed at him and then sobered. He reached forward, a frown licking his faceplates and splayed a hand on one of the new plates covering Prowl's chassis. It was the dull gray of unpainted metal against the vivid, almost pearlescent black of his original armor. "Are you going to fix your paint, now that you have them back?"_

_Prowl allowed his lip plates to quirk slightly. "That is a very good idea, Bluestreak."_

_Bright optics raked over his frame. "You have a lot of work to do."_

"_Indeed. Perhaps I should not delay further?"_

"_Can I watch? I've never helped anyone paint before. Never had a reason, really. I mean… I only lived with my creators before… um, that. And they never got injured like you do, so there was never any reason to paint. But I want to learn. Some mechs have the most beautiful paint I've ever seen, and I think it would be really neat to learn how to do it."_

_Prowl allowed himself a tiny, almost nonexistent chuckle. "Yes, you may watch. If you are careful, I may even teach you how."_

_He was not prepared to suddenly find Bluestreak's arms around his neck in a tight embrace. Caught off guard, he awkwardly returned the excited hug. When Bluestreak settled back, Prowl took the black paint and unstopped the vial. With the youngling watching avidly, Prowl explained how to wield the brush to ensure an even, streak-free finish. He used his new finger's to demonstrate how to ensure the edges of the plates were sufficiently covered and yet not allowed to build up extra paint. More than that could interfere with transformation._

_Picking one of the flatter pieces of armor on his right leg that also needed to be painted, Prowl opened the white paint and pushed it in front of Bluestreak. Then he pointed to the offending armor plate. "This one should be white. Try it."_

_Optics widening, Bluestreak cautiously reached for the brush and dipped it into the paint. When he hesitated, letting the overloaded brush hover too long over the armor, a drop of paint fell onto Prowl's leg with a wet, obnoxiously loud 'ploop'._

_Bluestreak let out a mortified trill and his hand started to tremble. Without even thinking, Prowl reached out and gently took Bluestreak's hand, still grasping the brush, and lowered the tool so that it could pull the pigment across the bare metal. Infinitely gentle, Prowl coached Bluestreak in this manner until the brush was dry and in need of refilling, the paint spread in an even, thin coat. Still seeing the wide, disbelieving and somewhat timid look in the youngling's optics, Prowl helped him to dip the brush back into the paint vial, removing the excess, before repeating the same process._

_This time, however, after two strokes, Prowl released Bluestreak's hand. Startled the small gray and blue Praxian looked up at him sharply. Prowl simply nodded in encouragement._

_Seeming to gather himself and taking pains to garner all his focus, Bluestreak bent to the task. Prowl watched him for a breem, noticing how his silent approval had leant courage and confidence to the youngling. Gradually, timid strokes became surer and the quality of his work improved admirably. Prowl noted how not only was Bluestreak's hand impressively steady, he had an attention to detail that was unusual in one so young and almost at odds with his normal, almost carelessly talkative manner. _

_Confident in the youngling's improving skill, Prowl took up his own brush and turned his attention to another plate on the same leg. Even so, he kept an optic on Bluestreak just in case he needed more assistance._

_When Bluestreak was finished with that piece of armor, Prowl considered it and then verbalized his approval, only to have Bluestreak move to the mirroring piece on the opposite leg and begin working there as well. They worked in silence for several more breems until Bluestreak climbed onto the chair pulled up next to the berth. He gently pat one of the armor pieces along Prowl's abdomen, studying the other side carefully. _

"_This one is supposed to be black, right?" He touched a different piece. "So is this one."_

_Prowl nodded, touched by the youngling's concern and desire to help him. "Yes, that is right."_

_Bluestreak smiled happily at him and then reached for the black brush, setting to work. _

_And so, they continued. Eventually, Bluestreak had moved to his back, climbing his frame, to reach the panels of his dorsal plating. Prowl had to pause his own painting at that point so he could hold the paint vial for the youngling. Thankfully, there was only one panel on his back that needed paint and it was finished relatively quickly. Then it was back to the armor on his chassis, legs and arms._

_Prowl had to admit, it was… pleasant… to have help in such a menial if personal task. Even if the end result was not exactly of professional quality. It was done out of care and amity and that meant more to him at that moment than anything else. _

... Sensing his regard, Bluestreak looked up at him and smiled. "Bumblebee wanted to play hide and seek today." Then the smile fell. "You are going on another mission, aren't you?"

Prowl felt his spark fall and nodded solemnly but tried to sound positive. "Most likely. I am going to a mission briefing as soon as I drop you off with Chromia."

Bluestreak nodded and then glanced up at the door as they came to a stop. Then he sighed a long release of air that ended with his plating flattening across his small frame. Frowning, Prowl reached down and gently placed a recently painted finger under his chin plating. Under his gentle prodding, Bluestreak lifted his optics to meet Prowl's.

"You are brave Bluestreak. But you will not be alone." He spoke softly.

Bluestreak nodded and some of his natural brightness returned to his mien. Then the door opened and Chromia stepped out. She smiled at Bluestreak and then looked up at Prowl. She blinked, looking over him a second time.

"Weren't you a patch-work of new plating when I saw you last?" The question was asked with her typical brusqueness, though her optics were truly puzzled.

Prowl did not bother to stop the smirk that stretched his lip plates, though he did not allow it to last very long after a shared glance with Bluestreak. "Indeed, that is so."

"You did a good job. And quick too."

Bluestreak was positively beaming at this point and Prowl gestured deferentially to him. "I did not do it all on my own."

Her mouth dropped open slightly as her gaze shot down to Bluestreak and then back up to Prowl several times in quick succession before finally settling on the blue and gray youngling. "You helped Prowl paint his armor?"

Bluestreak nodded eagerly. "Yes, ma'am. He taught me how to do it and I was able to help him. It took several joors, but he looks a lot better now and I'm happy about that. Hopefully he won't that hurt again, because we used most of the paint he had left."

Chromia fought for several astroseconds against the grin that eventually lit her features. "That was very kind of you Bluestreak." Then she pointed him back into her quarters where Prowl could see Bumblebee was waving excitedly.

With a quick squeeze of his hand Bluestreak gently tugged Prowl down to kneel at his level. "Please be careful as you possibly can."

Prowl nodded. "I will."

The adult Praxian stood as Bluestreak disappeared into his friend's quarters and looked at Chromia. She had her arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe again, that grin still in appearance. She shook her helm. "You are really not what I expected."

Then she slipped back inside and shut the door. Prowl stared for a moment longer, then with a shake of his own helm he made his way to the assigned briefing room.

… … …

Optimus waited, along with Ironhide, Smokescreen and Jazz in the chosen briefing room. They had, by usual habit, arrived well before the scheduled start time so as to catch up on non-work related items and socialize. Except for Optimus. He simply preferred to be early where possible in order to be available to the mechs under his command for private questions or concerns they did not feel like sharing in a group setting.

This orn, however, was different. Once their initial greetings had been exchanged, virtually no one had spoken. Instead they each sat in their unofficial places, lost to the recesses of their own private contemplations.

Yes, Jazz had assured Optimus that such an incident as what had been done to Prowl would not be allowed to happen again, it did not cease to bother him. He remembered the grim and downright gruesome details in Ratchet's official report on the Praxian's condition. He had read the report twice, the images accompanying the file seared into his memory and it weighed heavy on his spark.

While it was true that what had been done to Prowl had been done completely behind his back and without his approval, and while he suspected both Jazz and Ironhide had attempted to do damage control after the fact, he could not help but feel responsible for the actions of those under his command.

This would be the first time he had seen the former Decepticon since before Prowl had been deployed on his last mission.

Only two breems before the scheduled start of the briefing, the door slid aside to admit Prowl. The Praxian hesitated ever so briefly in the portal's threshold as his optics slid over the room, then they focused onto Optimus' own. Despite the reassurances from Jazz and Ironhide, the Prime was surprised to see no anger, hostility or even blame in those golden optics, only polite question; the respectfully neutral look of a mech waiting for instructions

Optimus gestured him toward the empty chair directly across from him. It just happened to put the Praxian between Jazz and Ironhide and almost across from Smokescreen. The tactician obediently moved to the indicated chair, his doorwings twitching slightly in the only indication he allowed to his unease at being the center of attention as every mech present watched his progress.

"Reporting as ordered, Prime." Prowl slid into the seat, the tenor of his smooth baritone voice totally inflectionless.

Optimus blinked, realizing what was missing. Prowl should have been a patchwork of unfinished and salvaged metal plates. Instead he appeared freshly painted, if perhaps a touch sore and stiff from still-healing welds. The other three Autobots present likewise seemed intrigued at the Praxian's altered appearance.

"I think I like your shoulder platting better like that." Ironhide spoke almost challengingly, gesturing to where the Decepticon's purple sigil had once been carved into the Praxian's frame.

Optimus hid his wince at the rather tactless statement, though he did give his bodyguard a brief glare, one that Ironhide intentionally did not acknowledge. Any other mech would have cringed at that reminder, but Prowl simply turned his gaze to the black mech.

"As do I." The words were spoken softly, but sincerely.

Optimus blinked, regarding Prowl carefully. "Not the most pleasant experience, I would imagine."

Amber optics locked back on his, and then Prowl averted his gaze respectfully. "I experienced worse, sir."

It was said with out noticeable inflection or even hint of accusation, but that did not stop each of them from stiffening. Of course, the torture done to _one_ of his doorwings would have out-shown the forcible removal of his shoulder guards, let alone what had been done to _both_ sensory panels.

"Of course." Optimus subtly cleared his vents, deciding then to listen to the whispers of the Matrix against his Spark and have a private conversation with Prowl as soon as was feasible. Until then, he decided it would be best to keep to the task at hand. "Prowl, this meeting is to discuss your next assignment."

Prowl nodded, straightening slightly, though his doorwings twitched again. "Sir?"

Yes, there was a barely detectible stress underlying the tactician's frame and tone and Optimus realized Prowl was likely under the impression that that assignment would be another patrol.

He sent a quick comm. to Jazz. _/You didn't tell him what his next assignment would be?/_

_/Nope./_ Jazz's mental voice was not as flippant as it usually was. _/I… didn't want ta worry 'im. 'Sides I'm not sure how he's gonna take it./_

_/That was cruel, Jazz./_

The saboteur sent a chagrined acknowledgement. _/I see that. I didn't mean ta be./_

Optimusturned all his attention back on the Praxian sitting stiffly in front of him and allowed his expression to ease into a tiny smile in an attempt to put the smaller mech at ease. "Indeed, you are being assigned to the tactical division here in Iacon Central Command."

Prowl's optics widened minutely and, somehow, his frame stiffened a fraction more. He glanced briefly at Smokescreen – his new commanding officer – and seeing that this was _not_ a surprise to the white and gray Praxian, looked back at Optimus. "Yes, sir."

Prowl's response gave away nothing as to his internal thoughts about being assigned to work directly under the mech who had sent him out to be tortured by his former faction. This concerned Optimus and, judging by the slight shifting of armor from his staff, he was not the only one.

Nonetheless, Optimus acknowledged Prowl's seeming acceptance of the assignment with a nod of his own. "I am obliged to point out this posting is still probationary."

"Understood, Prime." Those doorwings, which were usually very expressive in Praxian's only gave the barest hint of a twitch, the mech's ironclad control over his expressions as firm as ever.

"Prowl," all optics turned to Smokescreen as he continued, watching his former boss warily. "Are you going to have trouble taking orders from me?"

The black and white mech blinked in surprise, glancing around at the almost pensive expressions of everyone else in the room. Then, not wholly surprisingly, his doorwings dipped ever so slightly into an intentional posture of deference, though he did not avert his gaze.

"You are the tactical division commander." It was a statement, but Smokescreen nodded anyway. Prowl continued matter-of-factly, choosing his words carefully, knowing what the Autobots wanted to hear, just _knowing_ that they wanted him bound by his ethical coding. "This assignment places me under your command, therefore I will submit to your leadership."

Smokescreen's chin lifted ever so slightly, clearly not trusting Prowl's remarkably quick capitulation. "_You_ were tactical division commander for the Enforcer Corps in Praxus."

Optimus watched as Prowl nodded acknowledgement of that observation but did not rise to the obvious challenge. "That was then. This is now. It is illogical to dwell on a chain of command that has not existed for vorns."

"You say that so easily. Why should I believe you mean it?" Smokescreen's tone was not as defiant as the words he had uttered even if his engine growled.

All optics flicked back to Prowl, who grimaced slightly. "Easy or not it is the truth. Nothing is gained by avoiding it."

Smokescreen did not back off his posturing in an effort to establish his leadership – something every Autobot had learned to do with Decepticons and Optimus had an astrosecond to doubt the wisdom of allowing Smokescreen direct command over Prowl.

However, before he could intervene, the older Praxian released a resigned sigh of air through his vents. "Smokescreen, I know I have lost your respect. I do not contest the legitimacy of your claim against me. By all means, do what you feel you must to put me in my place. I won't resist, though of all the mechs here, you should know it is unnecessary. Respectfully, I would suggest it would be more beneficial to focus on the assignment and reserve such posturing for the event I should overstep my bounds."

Smokescreen stared at him for a moment and then chuckled. Then that chuckle turned into a bark of genuine laughter. Prowl blinked as if in surprise. Optimus cast a quick glance at his other officers showed and saw that they were as confused as he was by that cryptic remark.

"This is going to be… interesting." Was all Smokescreen said by explanation.

Ironhide frowned and opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again with a tiny shake of his helm.

Optimus took the opportunity to move the discussion forward. "If that is settled, Prowl… are you ready to return to duty? I know you have received medical clearance to return to light duty, but what you experienced is easily very traumatic. Are _you_ ready, or would you like more time to recover?"

Prowl only stared at him, clearly caught off guard by the question, as if he was not expecting to be given the option. Optimus felt a swell of empathy in his spark that Prowl, even after all he had recently endured, did not expect to be given a chance to recover fully. Then that empathy shifted to a stab of guilt. Why _would_ Prowl expect differently? He had been sent out to be tortured, why would he expect they would offer kindness? Especially when he had come to this briefing expecting to be sent back into the field before his repairs had been completed.

A quick glance at Jazz showed the mech was tense, likely realizing the same thing the Prime had.

After a long moment, Prowl finally seemed to regain his wits. He bobbed his head respectfully. "I… appreciate the offer, Prime. However, I am ready to return to duty."

Jazz suddenly smirked while Ironhide huffed lightly, clearly irritated. Prowl canted a look at the two of them, clearly suspecting the same thing Optimus did; one had lost a bet of some kind while the other had won.

Returning his attention to the Praxian, Optimus nodded. "If that is your wish. Do not feel I am pressuring you."

Prowl shook his helm. "If you have need of my abilities, then I will not be so selfish as to not abide by my earlier commitment."

Now it was Optimus' turn to stare, though he recovered quickly. It would now be a great insult to _not_ accept the other mech's determination. "Very well then, You two are dismissed."

With a glance at each other, Prowl and Smokescreen stood. They bowed in tandem, answering simultaneously, "Yes, sir."

Optimus watched them leave, making note of the way both mechs held their doorwings rather stiffly. Despite Smokescreen's request to have Prowl in his department, the Prime doubted it would be easy for either of them. At least not initially.

"Why do I have the feeling we just opened up a whole new vial of rust-mites?" Ironhide grumbled into the awkward silence.

Jazz just shook his helm, chuckling softly.

… … …

Prowl followed Smokescreen to the Autobots' tactical command. The last time he had been there it had been for a heavily monitored analysis, one completed under three monitors and the threat of Ironhide's canons. Now he was returning with only his former apprentice as escort. It was progress.

Speaking of, Prowl considered Smokescreen's back. The younger mech was tense, that much was blindingly obvious in the set of his doorwings alone, though over what exactly remained a mystery. He released a soft huff of air. No, a better question would be as to what the other tactician was _not_ tense about. He suspected it would be a far shorter list.

He could only imagine what this was like for his former subordinate. Despite the seemingly ingrained instinct to assert dominance over him that almost every Autobot had had, Smokescreen had the added difficulty of feeling the need to do so over his former commander. If it was demeaning and uncomfortable for Prowl, it had to be twice as awkward for the younger mech.

He still desired to rebuild the relationship he had had with Smokescreen or, at the very least, make atonement for the betrayal he had committed against the younger tactician. Perhaps now he would have that opportunity.

When they entered the tactical command center, every mech present spared him hard, mostly suspicious looks. He was introduced and, while he was greeted politely, it was not without caution and wariness. It was also clear that no one wanted to be assigned as his monitor. Prowl was careful to remain professionally polite and respectful, knowing that technically, according to the terms of his parole, every Autobot in this room out ranked him.

After making the rounds, Smokescreen led him back to the main consol, the one that used a holographic well rather than a terminal screen. It was, simultaneously, where the most complex work was done and was clearly visible from every angle and from every point in the room.

Despite everything, Prowl was unable to stop a hint of smug pride in his former apprentice for his choice: it allowed him to work at what he did best while also ensuring everyone in the room could keep an optic out for suspicious behavior without having to divert anyone from their normal duties to act as a monitor.

Smokescreen handed him a datachip. "Those safe-houses you found; this is all the data our scouts and spies have been able to obtain. You recommended a simultaneous, combined assault on all of them to Ironhide. Your first order of business is to figure out how."

Prowl fingered the chip silently for a moment, considering the command he had been given, then lifted his gaze to the other tactician's "I will need to have access to the information on available Autobot forces to do that accurately."

The tension in the room suddenly spiked and Prowl stiffened as even Smokescreen's expression darkened. The younger mech shook his helm. "That is not yet information you are cleared to know. Do your part with what information you have and then another team will take it from there."

Prowl frowned. It was _almost_ the type of task that a junior tactician would be assigned except it was more as well, even if not entirely what a senior tactician would be tasked with. A junior tactician might be assigned to discover usable weaknesses of each base or devise the basic attack plan necessary for a single base. He was being asked to do both tasks for _all _of them. It was an attempt to blend the two roles and it made him distinctly uneasy. Those two roles were usually separated for a good reason.

Prowl started to say something but remembered his place; he had no grounds for objection to such an assignment, even if he disagreed with the wisdom of said assignment. Not to mention their audience; he could not risk appearing as if he were attempting to undermine Smokescreen. So he opted for activating his comm..

_/Smokescreen…/_ Prowl did not like the way the other mech stiffened defensively and modulated his digital 'tone' carefully. He would accept any potential fall out, but he had a duty to speak. _/You know I cannot develop an effective strategy without knowing all the variables./_

Smokescreen's engine growled lowly. _/These are the only variables you will be given. You are not a senior tactician here./_

Prowl's doorwings flicked slightly before he could stop them. Yes, he knew that junior level staff were given only the information they were deemed to be in absolute need of. It was the best way to maintain operational security. Every tactician, from the lowest analyst to the department commander knew and accepted that fact.

That did not ease Prowl's misgivings about this particular assignment. _/Will I be held responsible for failures do to changes I had no part in or those attributable to lack of sufficient information to complete my task?/_

Smokescreen's optics hardened even though he hesitated, unsure, before answering. _/Are you setting terms now?/_

Prowl vented with frustration, but knew a reprimand when he heard one. That it came from Smokescreen about _this_ type of topic stung more than it should have, but Prowl knew his place and forced his gaze aside, armor clamping tightly to his frame submissively. _/My apologies./_ Then, for the sake of their audience, "Understood, sir."

He might have imagined it, but it looked like Smokescreen's doorwings twitched uncomfortably. However, Prowl did not wait for his former apprentice to respond and turned to face the terminal. He inserted the chip, activating the holographic well. As the hologram's light gently bathed his frame in hues of green, blue and gold, Prowl withdrew his cord and synched with the console.

… … …

Near the end of the orn Prowl had returned to his quarters after retrieving Bluestreak. The little youngling had been excited, almost to the point of blowing a fuse to see him again so soon. When he had explained that his new assignment was on the base and that he would not be going on patrol again for a while, that excitement had only grown. And while this had resulted in non-stop, barely coherent chatter as they walked back to their quarters, Prowl found he was touched by the shameless display of joy.

Primus knew the youngling had not had much cause for happiness lately.

Thus Prowl had gladly held Bluestreak's smaller hand as the youngling all but skipped down the hall next to him.

Thankfully, Bluestreak had calmed sufficiently enough not to spill his energon by the time Prowl handed it to him once they reached their quarters.

They had just started to work on another set of educational material when he picked up an approaching mech with his doorwings. Reflexively he scanned for a spark signature and then straightened just before his entry request tone sounded. Hastily, Prowl stood, signaling the door to open.

"Prime." He greeted with a formal bow of his helm.

"Prowl." Optimus greeted with equal formality, then turned his gaze onto Bluestreak, who was staring at him with wide optics. "Bluestreak, how are you doing this orn?"

Bluestreak opened his mouth to speak, inching towards the towering Prime. "Better, now that I know Prowl isn't going to be sent away from me."

Optimus frowned slightly, glancing at Prowl, but the Praxian kept his gaze respectfully lowered.

"Bluestreak…" Optimus' deep voice rumbled over Prowl making him want to shiver and the youngling took a half step toward the Autobot leader then shrunk back, pressing himself against Prowl's leg. "Why do you fear, youngling?"

Bluestreak looked up at Prowl pleadingly and the older Praxian gently placed a hand between his doorwings in silent encouragement and support, though the tactician never lifted his gaze to the Prime's.

Knowing he had his guardian watching his back was apparently enough for the youngling. He pushed away from the black armor plate he had been clinging to but never completely let go of it. "Everyone has been so mean to Prowl, and it just isn't fair. No body even seems to care that he is really, really nice, they just think he's some evil Decepticon and they don't trust him and they don't care if he gets hurt or killed and it isn't right. He hasn't done anything but help me and teach me and care for me but he's a prisoner and I never know if he's going to leave and never come back because he got killed because no body cared that he's put in danger!"

Silence rang in the wake of Bluestreak's breathless statement, the youngling's small frame trembling as it was again pressed close to Prowl's leg.

Optimus only stared at the shaking blue and gray frame, pain and a hint of guilt, deep in his optics. Prowl did not see that, however, as his own mortified gaze was likewise plastered on his charge's form.

A dozen thoughts were bombarding his processor in quick succession. Why was Bluestreak blaming the Prime? Would he be blamed for the youngling's accusations? Just how right was Bluestreak? How would the Prime take the accusation? What could he do to help Bluestreak? And so on…

To Prowl's great surprise the Supreme Commander of the Autobots dropped slowly to one knee, one-hundred percent of his focus on the young Praxian. "And you blame me for these things."

It was a softly spoken statement, half question but mostly a gentle observation. Bluestreak nodded ever so faintly, though it was clear he was affected by the sheer presence of the Prime just as Prowl was. "You're their leader!"

The half yelped cry was punctuated by a soft keen and Prowl saw the Prime actually wince. The tactician, for some reason, felt miserable about that.

"Prime…"

Prowl's soft statement was cut off by a flick of Optimus Prime's fingers as the towering mech kept his focus on the suffering youngling. "You came to these observations on your own?"

"It… it's easy to see." Bluestreak answered, taking courage in the Prime's calm response. "Actually, it's kinda impossible _not_ to see. Every time we go to get energon, everyone is mean… well almost everyone. Jazz, Hound and Beachcomber are nice most of the time. But people stare at him in the hall and whisper about him behind his back. I don't think they think we can hear, but we're Praxians and it isn't like they are really being quiet. And I hear them when I go out with Chromia. Though she's gotten better, and will sometimes tell them they can 'stuff their opinions up their exhaust ports', even she doesn't trust him that much."

Optimus nodded slowly, clearly taking seriously everything he was being told. "And has your guardian complained about any of this?"

Prowl stiffened, though he kept quiet, as he had been silently instructed to do. Bluestreak rapidly shook his head. "Uh, uh. I mean, 'no, sir.' Um… He doesn't talk about it much at all, though he did explain it to me when I asked."

"And what did he say?"

"That… that it was because he used to be an important Decepticon… that no one trusted him because of that and that it would take time for them to realize he isn't a threat. But…" Bluestreak glanced up at Prowl before looking back at the Prime. "But it would only make things worse for him if he _did_ complain, wouldn't it?"

"You are young Bluestreak." The Prime let out a vent of heated air, "but you are more insightful than your age would suggest. As un fair as it might seem, Prowl is right when he tells you it will take time. But I can assure you progress is being made. However, I cannot force those under my command to trust and be kind to him. You will better understand the depth and complexity of the issues as you mature Bluestreak. Until then, can you trust your guardian's judgment on this matter?"

Bluestreak blinked, jerking back slightly to glance up at Prowl, who was now staring in his own surprise at the Prime. The silence stretched as the youngling considered the request.

"But… you're their leader!" Bluestreak stepped away, putting himself protectively between the Autobot leader and his guardian.

An almost palpable wave of resigned sadness all but rolled off the Prime. "True. But that does not give me unlimited power over their lives in that way. Will you accept my word that Prowl is indeed earning the trust of those he works with? However, you must understand that that trust is fragile. While I am sure Prowl greatly appreciates your willingness to defend him, will you trust me when I say that Prowl can handle the issue on his own?"

Bluestreak hesitated, then with visible reluctance he nodded. Then he looked down. "I'm not in trouble am I?"

Prowl's optics widened at the timid question and his gaze darted up to meet the Prime's own startled look before the leader reached out to put two fingers on a comparably tiny shoulder. "Bluestreak, I once asked you to speak honestly with me, no matter how difficult and you have done so. I do not punish mechs for following instructions."

Bluestreak visibly relaxed at that and nodded. With a gentle smile, the Prime returned the gesture and then rose to his feet. The silence between them stretched for a long moment and Prowl released a vent of air.

"Prime, I…" A surprisingly kind shake of Optimus' helm made Prowl swallow his own words.

"Relax, Prowl. This is not an official visit." Prowl tried to hide his surprise, but must have failed because the Prime smiled ever so briefly. "You sustained a great deal of damage in service to the Autobot cause. I simply wished to thank you for that service."

Prowl could only stare, that being the last thing he expected to hear. He pushed away the sudden stab of pain in the back of his processor and struggled to find his voice again. He bowed his helm. "It is an honor to serve, Prime. There is no need to thank me."

"Nevertheless. Prowl, I…" With the uncharacteristic hesitation, Prowl was struck with the impression that Optimus was uneasy about something he was trying to say and it was confusing until he finally realized what it was.

"It was my understanding that that assignment was given without your knowledge and without your blessing." Seeing Optimus' optics widen, Prowl took that as a confirmation. He averted his gaze deferentially. "It would not have mattered either way, Prime. I understand that in war not all assignments are pleasant. It was necessary and that was sufficient justification."

"Most mechs in that situation are given an option. At least in our faction." Optimus stated quietly.

Prowl resisted the urge to quirk an optic ridge at that ironic statement, knowing it would be rude to do so. "But then I am not 'most mechs' am I? I gave my word to you. I kept it then and I will do so now."

Optimus regarded him closely and Prowl felt as if the regal leader could see straight through him and he had to stamp down the youngling-like urge to squirm under the scrutiny. "It has been some time since you have worked with Smokescreen, and I know you two have your differences."

Prowl nodded, refusing to wince at that amazingly polite warning. "Yes, sir."

"How are you adapting to working with him again?"

Prowl hesitated for a long moment before answering. He would be truthful, he knew that, but he did not want to sound… brazen or disrespectful. "As you have said, Prime; we have our differences. But he is my commanding officer; I will not act inappropriately nor undermine his authority."

Optimus considered his words and then nodded in seeming acceptance of them. "He has entrusted you with a sensitive role in a vital upcoming mission." He must have seen something change in Prowl's expression for he paused, his gaze sharpening. "What is it?"

Prowl again found himself at a loss as to how to best explain. He refused to undermine Smokescreen to the Prime by telling Optimus that the way he had distributed assignments was less than ideal. But now he had to say something. "I find that the task I have been given is not well suited to the efficient completion of the assigned role."

Optimus frowned. "You have told Smokescreen this?"

Not in so many words, but generally speaking, "yes sir."

"And he has chosen not to listen to your perspective." It was another observation, not a question, and was simultaneously another warning.

Prowl found himself feeling slightly defensive and fought to keep his doorwings and armor from flaring. "As is his right, Prime. I have never suggested otherwise."

"And what do you plan to do from here?" It was asked softly, almost hesitantly and Prowl thought he understood the concern the Prime was choosing not to give voice to.

"I will complete my assignment to the best of my ability, Prime." Prowl answered evenly.

"Of that I have no doubt." The Prime nodded in stately acknowledgement of Prowl's promise. "What I told Bluestreak is true. You are earning our trust, but there is still a long way for you to go before you have done so sufficiently for us to end your probation."

Prowl acknowledged that statement, again feeling the weight of that reality more acutely when he heard the words uttered from the Prime. He found himself repeating similar words to those he had the last time Optimus had visited him in his quarters. "I will not betray the trust you have given me, Prime."

This time, instead of denying such trust existed, the Prime simply dipped his helm in agreement. "I hope not. Good orn, Prowl."

Prowl returned the greeting politely but could only watch as the Prime took his leave, staring blankly at the Autobot's massive back.

* * *

_Thanks to everyone who has reviewed and offered support for this story. You guys are awesome! _


	23. Turning Point

_**Warning:**__ This is __**NOT **__a cute, fluff-filled chapter you are about to read. Quite the opposite, really. I just remind you, don't worry; you know where the story is ultimately headed. :) Oh, there is also an actual cuss word in here, though in the context – and considering who says it – it isn't that out of place._

* * *

Prowl knew the date when the Autobot's planned to assault the Decepticon safe-houses because he was released from duty that orn. Despite how much he wanted to be in the tactical command for that effort, despite how much he knew he would be able to assist them, he understood the reasoning Smokescreen had for keeping him away. It was one thing to assist in the analysis and planning, but the damage a tactician of questionable reliability could do in the Tactical Command Center during an actual operation was… incalculable.

No, Prowl understood why they kept him away. Unfortunately his spark yearned to assist them in their efforts and that desire was made stronger by the powerful sense of unease the unorthodox assignment he had been given had generated.

But Prowl was in no position to protest his limited authority and so he had spent the orn in the training room, retreating to the recreation of the crystal garden his Circuit Su master had cultivated near the dojo. And it took every ounce of discipline he possessed to quiet his processor and settle his spark.

When his communications system finally buzzed with an incoming ping he was simultaneously surprised and expectant as he accessed it.

_/Smokescreen to Prowl./_ His former apprentice's voice was sharp and brought back every ounce of anxiety he had managed to suppress.

Prowl did not allow any indication of his internal stress as he answered in carefully neutral, purely professional, mental tones. _/Prowl here./_

_/Report to briefing room three alpha./ _The signal was cut off.

Not a good sign.

But the curt order had left no room for delay so, with a weary release of air through his systems, Prowl unfolded his legs and stood. He deactivated the holographic program and made his way directly to the indicated briefing room. As he walked the halls, he noted that the overall atmosphere was subdued and that the handful of mechs who even acknowledged his presence were openly hostile. More so than usual. Something was not right; something must have happened.

Hesitating only briefly to reinforce his external mask of calm, professional coolness, Prowl signaled the door to open and stepped inside. Then paused just past the threshold. The Prime, Ironhide, Ultra Magnus, Jazz, Ratchet, Red Alert, Blaster and Smokescreen were all there. The majority of the Senior Command staff, and it reminded him of the debriefing following his first patrol with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker.

His tanks churned at that comparison, his lines seeming to freeze as his gaze swept the gathered Autobots. He was pointed to an empty seat by Optimus and Prowl had to force himself to walk toward it. There was no mistaking the cold, hard gazes that were boring into him. And not just from the mechs he did not really know, but from those who had at least appeared to have begun trusting him. Even Optimus and Jazz.

Prowl sat stiffly, still completely at a loss as to what he had done to garner this sudden increase in antipathy, for truly it was almost _worse_ than when he had first come to the base.

A datapad was slid across the table to him and he took it in hand out of habit, though he looked questioningly at the Prime, trying not to shudder under his intense, icy-blue gaze.

"Read it." The Prime's voice was hard and cold, sending a shiver down the tactician's frame.

Obediently Prowl read the datapad. It was a casualty report from the mission and accompanying reports from team leaders. As he read, the room around him started to spin and his spark fell. He could not stop the ever so slight flare of his doorwings as horror closed its grip on his emotional center. Oh, the Autobots had been successful in taking out all of the safe-houses, but it had been a disaster in that roughly half of the mechs sent on the mission never returned. Forty-seven percent… gone.

Prowl shuttered his optics, sucking in a draft of air that was suddenly hard to cycle.

With fingers that trembled ever so faintly, he flipped through the rest of the information as rapidly as his systems could process it. A second evaluation of the data confirmed what he had seen on his first read; while the strategic plan that had been implemented was _based_ on his work it had been substantially altered, or at least significantly so.

"What do you have to say about this, Prowl?" Optimus' stern voice jerked Prowl out of his thoughts and he looked up, optics a touch wider than normal.

He was suddenly stuck, unsure how best to respond. He saw the interface hub sitting innocuously on the table and suspected where this discussion was headed, but that did not tell him how best to answer the Prime. "I…"

Optimus cut him off, rare anger seeping into his deep voice and it was all Prowl could do not to recoil physically. "We trusted you, _I_ trusted you, and the first time we implement your strategy, it kills half of the soldiers sent. Explain."

Prowl's doorwings did tremble as he winced inwardly at the unspoken danger in the Prime's voice, the righteous fury that was somehow being controlled. Megatron would have already assaulted him. He spoke quickly, softly. "This is not my strategy." He looked up, his own optics almost pleading. "This is not the strategy or one of the contingencies I submitted. It has been significantly modified…"

He was cut off by a low growl from the Prime's massive engine. "You are denying responsibility?"

Prowl stiffened at that and lowered his gaze a fraction. "No, sir. But…" He glanced at Smokescreen and saw clearly that the other Praxian blamed him as well. He doubted the decision to limit the amount of data he had been given was made by Smokescreen alone. He returned his attention to the Prime. "I was given only data on the enemy locations and was not granted access to any information about the forces available on our side. I was informed others would take it from there to…"

"Stop making excuses!" Smokescreen leaned forward, a hand pressed against the table surface sounding hurt as well as angry.

Prowl winced visibly at that, realizing his former apprentice was taking this as yet another betrayal. He looked aside, his processors desperately attempting to find a way to reason with them and struggling not to give into the growing panic and frustrated anger he felt taking hold. Taking in a deep draft of air, Prowl calmed himself and looked directly at Smokescreen.

Then he carefully dipped his doorwings and ducked his helm into an intentional display of respect and entreaty in light of what he was going to say. "Smokescreen, _sir,_ you _know_ how I function. My strategies are effective but are only as accurate as the information they are based on. You also know how dependent those plans are on being executed as prescribed," He tapped the datapad with one finger. "This was not my plan."

Smokescreen growled. "You are no longer a senior tactician. You should stop thinking like one!"

Prowl blinked, just stopping himself from jerking backward, feeling like he had been slapped in the faceplate. But what Smokescreen said was true. He was not in the role of senior tactician, it did not matter that the assignment he had been given attempted to blend that reality with his skill and ability _as_ a senior tactician. Structuring the assignment as a blend between the two roles had been Smokescreen's mistake, but that reality would not matter here apparently. And he _should_ have been more careful to approach the assignment from a less sophisticated and complicated angle; something a junior tactician could operate with.

Lowering his gaze, Prowl allowed the tense silence to stretch. He had presented his case, his defense. If Smokescreen, as his commanding officer, would not accept his statement, it left him no choice but to accept their ruling and submit to discipline. He was still a POW and he knew it and his response was appropriately subdued and quiet. "I stand corrected sir."

He drew in another slow intake of air and turned his attention to the Prime though he did not raise his optics from the table surface. No one in the room would have missed the strain in his voice. "Where the strategy was based on my work, I accept full responsibility."

That was it; a statement that was easily a confession for something that was not entirely or even substantially his fault. But the truth was he had a great deal more experience than Smokescreen, he _should_ have listened to his instincts about the assignment and should have been more careful in his approach. He had had a responsibility to compensate for his commander's lack of experience and he had failed to do that. So he chose to cover for Smokescreen's mistake now.

"What were your intentions, Prowl?" Optimus demanded, engine revving lowly under his words.

The question surprised Prowl and he blinked. "My intentions were…"

"Enough!" Ironhide pounded a fist into the table, cutting him off. "Prime, we are wasting time. We know he will never admit to _wanting_ that to happen, even if he did."

Prowl winced again, but he said nothing in his defense. He had already 'confessed'. There was nothing else he could say. His gaze darted down to the interface hub sitting on the table and his own words from only a handful of decaorns previously echoed in his audios: _"If I were a potential sleeper agent or spy, the third stage is the logical time to act…"_

His own warning condemned him now.

Prowl shuttered his optics as Red Alert jumped in. "Ironhide is right. Nothing he says can be trusted right now."

Other officers were quick to make their opinions known and their heated discussion wove around Prowl as he curled his hands into fists in his lap, wanting to howl at the injustice of it all, even if he could not fault their logic when taken from their perspective.

Their anger at his perceived betrayal did not abate as the discussion continued without his further input; it radiated off of all of them in almost tangible waves. Doubtless each of them had known someone who had been extinguished on the botched mission. He knew they had started to trust him; the Prime had told him as much himself. Now they believed he had abused that trust. The Prime believed it.

It was not true, every cog in his frame strained in silent, frustrated despair. But he knew nothing he _said_ would convince them of that fact. He did not stop to question _why_ he wanted them to believe him, to regain the fragile trust he had earned.

"_I will not betray the trust you are giving me…"_ He had promised, not only a commanding officer, but the _Prime_ himself_._ A promise he could no more break than he could suddenly become an organic life form. But as the discussion turned to what they should do with him in light of his apparent duplicity, Prowl realized he did not care what happened to him. All he wanted was for the Prime to know that he had not betrayed that trust, at least not intentionally.

He onlined his optics and they fell on that harmless looking data hub and the discomfort it promised, the fleeting hope it represented. He spoke before he could reconsider, interrupting Ultra Magnus' litany about how dangerous it was to let him have 'free reign' of the base now as he had had to this point.

"Just do it." Everyone immediately fell silent, focusing on him and Prowl lifted his gaze from the hub to the Prime. His own anger, frustration and newly spawned hopelessness burning in his gaze, though his voice was merely a fraction tighter than any of the Autobots had ever heard it. "Just run a scan. Get it over with and I will accept whatever you wish to do to me."

Surprised silence claimed the conference room as all optics turned to Optimus, waiting for the Prime's judgment. In that time, Prowl continued to meet the Prime's gaze, yearning for a chance to prove himself though that warred with a growing anger that it was even necessary… until he saw the moment of decision.

At the Prime's nod Ratchet and Jazz stood, moving toward him and Prowl reached for the hub. He snatched the appropriate cable and slammed it into his own port. He did not so much as flinch when the chair magnetized, trapping him to it.

"Give me access to your primary motor relays."

Prowl glanced up at the medic, mild alarm mixing with irritation, but the cold, dangerous look in the CMO's optics told him that if he refused, the panel would be pried away. He was deemed to be a threat now, if not for what they suspected him of doing then for the mounting anger they could probably feel combined with his proven abilities.

And he had promised he would accept whatever they wished to do to him. That statement bound him now as it would once the scan was completed.

Lowering his gaze submissively back to the table, Prowl reluctantly slid aside the appropriate panels of armor and moments later his entire frame froze as the medic paralyzed him. Only astroseconds passed before two minds collided with his firewalls.

Unlike before, sensing their open antagonism, Prowl did not immediately drop his defenses. He kept them up as a reminder that, whatever they were about to do, he was _allowing_ it. Unfortunately, they took his action as defiance and it only served to feed their anger and distrust.

Belatedly realizing his mistake, Prowl braced himself and then lowered his firewalls.

Their combined anger hit him like a battering ram, tearing into him. Pain stabbed through his processors as both the medic and saboteur had their defensive subroutines fully activated. As expected, Ratchet 'positioned' himself to prevent Prowl from digitally attacking Jazz as the saboteur began lancing through his recent memories and their associated emotional and personal files.

Gone was the polite and relatively gentle mental touch Jazz had utilized during his last scan. Once the first memory was accessed, Prowl was unable to focus on anything specific. It was the difference between someone going through a library of datapads, picking one off a shelf to read and then placing it back where it had been and someone who carelessly – or viciously – tossed each datapad aside after it was read. Except it was not a library, it was happening in his processors.

Prowl ground his denta as it took every ounce of his control not to defend his mind or retaliate as the careful, orderly structure of his databanks was systematically scattered and fragmented. It was happening one file at a time, though with lightning speed as Jazz flashed through his scan. Fragment enough of a mech's processor and their entire mind would shatter. Exactly how much damage that required before it was irreparable depended on the mech in question.

This was what he had expected the first time Jazz had synched with his processor in that interrogation cell. A distant part of his mind railed that it was happening _now._

Then, suddenly, it was over.

Prowl had no idea how much time had passed as synaptic linkages were misfiring and his processors were scattered, he only knew that the ripping, rending mental invasion had abruptly stopped and that he was again alone in his mind.

Even if no additional damage was being done, he continued to writhe internally. He was still cognizant enough to be aware that he could not focus on anything beyond the painful, fragmented agony that kept his mind in a tight vice while simultaneously attempting to prevent the broken pieces from flying apart.

It was several long astroseconds before Prowl's frame was mobilized again and when it was, he curled forward, slumping against the table. His hands rose to cradle his helm on their own accord and he could not think clearly enough to do more than that, finding he was both unwilling and unable to do anything else at the moment. He could not even keen, though it was not just the physical discomfort that tormented him. It was the loss of something much more elusive, something he had only just started to believe in again. And that loss was its own torment.

Locked in the world of his own internal agony, Prowl kept his optics shuttered. Because of that, he did not see Jazz shift away from him, leaning heavily against the table, his helm lowered miserably. Nor did he see that Ratchet likewise turned away, lip plates pressed firmly together, his optics troubled.

When nothing was said for almost a full breem, the Prime spoke softly into it, his tone expressing concern at what he had witnessed. "Report."

Jazz did not look up, and it took a long moment for him to force the words out of his vocalizer, his voice taught with the strain of realizing what he had just done. "He was tellin' tha truth."

Ironhide growled, unconvinced. "Yeah? Which part?"

"All of it!" Ratchet snapped angrily, though it was clear his anger was not directed at the weapon specialist.

In the ensuing silence, Smokescreen looked down, one hand closing spasmodically around the edge of the table and then releasing and none of the other commanders looked at their fellows. Prowl was able to follow what was said, but could not muster the concentration to truly understand it.

Finally, Jazz's hands convulsed into clawed fists and he lifted his gaze, first to look at Smokescreen and then to settle on Optimus.' "There were some significant changes made to his original plans. They didn't seem significant to me, but his processor singled 'em out and tha time stamp indicates it happened at his first read of tha reports. He didn't do this to us, we did it ta ourselves."

This time the silence that settled over the meeting was distinctly uncomfortable as all optics darted back to the still hunched and faintly trembling form of the former Decepticon. His posture was universal and there was no doubt as to what Jazz had done to him. They knew the potential he had of being a threat and could not help but wonder if that potential was about to become actuality.

"Did he fight you?" Optimus asked softly.

"No." Jazz sounded almost strangled.

Optimus nodded, no overt condemnation in his gaze as he addressed the wounded Praxian. "Prowl…"

Slowly, painfully, Prowl lifted his faceplate at the direct address, though his optics were unfocused. Before the Prime could continue, however, the tactician made an inarticulate noise – something that was not quite a keen nor a groan – and dropped his head back into his palms.

Jazz winced, flinching away a little, as did Smokescreen, while most of the others just stared, shocked at what they saw. Ratchet looked down again, glancing at his Prime for permission and, when it was given with a short nod, stepped back toward Prowl.

The CMO hesitated, sudden trepidation tightening his movements as he reached for his cable again. Everyone tensed when Prowl became aware of the medic's approach. The Praxian stiffened with obvious alarm and… fear?

Then, to everyone's further surprise, Prowl curled his hands into fists and forced them down to the table's surface, crossing them at the wrists. Surrender.

It was clear he was expecting another punishing scan and every mech in the room realized what his actions truly represented. Prowl had stated he would accept whatever they wanted to do to him and he was making good on that promise.

Still cautious, Ratchet gently removed the hub's cable from Prowl's port and then inserted his own. It was a tremendous risk, but one he did not even doubt taking. To the CMO's surprise, though Prowl recoiled instinctively from his mental touch, he kept his firewalls down.

With the deftness and efficiency of a skilled medic, Ratchet quickly helped to re-order Prowl's fragmented processor. The pain lessened incrementally as the medic progressed, files and their data packs meticulously put back in their rightful places within his processor.

Prowl's gaze slowly flicked up to Ratchet's and then quickly averted as the last memory files were restored. His frame lost the edge of its stiffness but did not relax. The physical pain was gone, but that was it; other wounds that would take longer to heal remained.

"Thank you, sir." His words were barely audible.

He knew what had been done to him and why. He knew it had been completely unwarranted and he now knew that they were equally aware of that fact. Where scattered processors and blinding pain and kept them at bay, the anger and frustration came roaring back to the forefront and Prowl diligently did his best to stamp into submission the violence that wanted to find vent.

"Prowl…"

The tactician turned dangerously fixed, amber optics toward the Prime and waited silently for the larger mech to continue, almost daring him to make another accusation and yet somehow respectfully submissive.

"Prime…" Smokescreen blurted, still not looking up from his hands. "It was my fault."

Like a taught cable suddenly breaking, everyone's gaze snapped to the Autobot tactician and he continued, not able to meet the Prime's troubled optics. "I made the assignment. I authorized the changes. He was right. I know how he operates. I should have been more careful, I should not have assumed."

With a still wary glance at Prowl who was still considering his apprentice with emotionless optics, Optimus spoke thoughtfully, concerned. "How do we keep something like this from happening again?"

Prowl's gaze flickered back to his as the tactician spoke, his voice like his optics, flat and yet brimming with restrained emotion. "I may not be a senior tactician any more, but everyone in this room knows that is exactly what I am. If you are going to keep me in this role, either assign a monitor to me or…" He looked pointedly at Smokescreen. "Assign me _only_ tasks that a junior tactician would be given. Do not give me an assignment that should only be done by a senior tactician and then have junior level-trained staff make changes to it."

"We haven't said you'd be going back to tactical." Ironhide interjected pointedly, glancing nervously between former Decepticon and thoroughly beaten looking Smokescreen.

Prowl did not even blink. "That is true." He looked back at the Prime. "Am I to be sent to the brig, Prime?"

Optimus could all but feel the inner battle raging within the black and white Praxian and answered softly. "I hardly think that would be appropriate."

One of Prowl's hands tightened into a fist. "With your permission then, I would like to be dismissed."

It was almost a demand, though kept just as respectful as propriety required. Optimus frowned. "You do not wish to have any input in our decision?"

Prowl's expression was pointedly blank and yet telling. "We both know that any input I may have will be negligible. I will submit to your decision because that is the only option I have, Prime."

Optimus continued to hold that burning, icy gaze for a moment longer, disturbed by what he saw – troubled by what had happened. Slowly he nodded. "You may go."

Prowl nodded and Jazz glanced at him before hesitantly releasing the magnetic lock holding him to the chair. The saboteur was still well within striking range if the tactician chose to retaliate and he knew it, though he did not try to put distance between them or even position himself defensively.

"Thank you." The words were tight, spoken sharply as he stood. He took several steps toward the door before he stopped, turning to pen Ironhide with his amber stare. "Ironhide, I trust Bluestreak is welcome to stay with you and Chromia for the next orn or so?"

It was another mostly respectful request and yet also a demand.

Stunned, Ironhide simply nodded. "Of course."

Prowl nodded again and then turned on his heel, doorwings flared stiffly. He left the briefing room without another backwards glance. For a long time none of the Autobots spoke, staring in stricken silence at the door as it closed behind the former Decepticon. They knew the injustice they had just helped perpetrate. Each one knew the role they had played in that travesty. It was one more tragedy piled upon those they had already witnessed this orn.

… … …

Sideswipe looked at his twin as they made their way down the halls of Iacon's primary base. Around them mechs continued to tend wounds too minor to bother the already harangued medics. As was par for the course, Sunstreaker had had the slag beat out of him, this time in the form of a well aimed null ray blast that left his left arm mangled beyond repair. Ratchet had amputated it in the field and then had patched the open wound with temp-plating until Wheeljack could build him a new arm.

Beyond that both front line warriors were pitted and scratched and mad as _pit_ that Tracks was now in forced medical stasis in the ICU and that Flareup was immobilized with her left leg traumatically amputated by a 'Con and the right amputated once back in Iacon because it was unsalvageable.

Right now Sunstreaker was still limping badly, the gait exacerbated, as he had to compensate for the missing weight of his left arm.

"Are you sure you're up for this, bro?" Sideswipe asked quietly.

The look Sunstreaker turned on him was pure venom. "You bet I am, that pit-spawn is going to _pay_ for what he did."

Feeling his twin's resolve, Sideswipe merely nodded and they continued their trek. They had managed to hack into the base's security feed and, while they had been detected and shut down and were sure to face brig-time for the infringement once everything settled down, they had been able to track the former Decepticon's location.

Apparently the command staff, and even the Prime, did not feel the need to punish the sneaky, back-stabbing fragger. Not if they were letting him just play to his own content in the training rooms.

Well, if the command team wasn't going to punish him as he should be, they would do so themselves. It was a mistake to let the defector have that much influence and _they_ had suffered personally for it.

"He's gonna learn he can't just betray us like that." Sunstreaker groused, almost to himself as they entered the lift that would take them down to the training level.

"Of course he is." Sideswipe agreed, punching in the command, "Nobody messes with us or our friends and gets by with it."

They stepped off the lift and marched determinably, if somewhat slowly for Sunstreaker's sake, toward training room seven. As they approached, they started to hear the unmistakable sound of metal striking metal indicating a pitched brawl was in progress. With a glance at each other, they hurried forward, the sounds growing to the point where it was clear the noises were emanating from the training room where Prowl was hiding.

They waited for a few breems to see who would win, wanting to congratulate the mech who handed Prowl's aft to him, but when there was no indication of the battle waning, Sideswipe carefully accessed the exterior control interface to get a visual feed of what was going on inside.

The first thing they saw was that Prowl was alone; his combatant was not another mech. At least not another _real_ mech.

"He's fighting three at a time._" S_unstreaker hissed. "By _himself_?"

Sideswipe could only nod as Prowl continued to do battle against three opponents, moving seamlessly from strike to strike, flowing from one assault to the next with a seeming effortlessness that neither front liner had ever seen, even from their time in the underworld gladiator games before the war. The way the challenging holograms were moving suggested they were programmed to represent highly skilled and brutal fighters, but Prowl was tearing them apart. Literally.

Both Twins watched in morbid fascination as Prowl decapitated one opponent with hardly a thought before turning and ramming one fist through the chassis of a second while kicking the headless frame of the first against the training room wall.

Both assailants disintegrated into pixilated hazes before fading out of existence entirely. Prowl turned to the only remaining hologram. However, no sooner than the two vanished, two more took their place. For one brief nanosecond Prowl stood motionless, surrounded by holographic enemies, and then he was moving again.

The raw fury and violence the former Decepticon was unleashing against the training projections was staggering and terrifying enough to snap even Sunstreaker out of his blind need for revenge. The Twins watched the battle for nearly fifteen breems, and the pattern remained the same: as soon as an opponent was taken out, it was replaced by another.

On impulse, Sideswipe checked the training room's usage logs and had to reset his optics. "He's been going at this for nearly _six_ joors!"

His stunned hiss of disbelief drew Sunstreaker's attention. "You gotta be slagging kidding me."

"I'm not." Sideswipe pointed adamantly to the line of data as Sunstreaker leaned close to look over his shoulder.

"Damn."

Sideswipe nodded mutely, just staring at the screen. There was no way in pit they would have believed the defector – a fragging _tactician_ for Primus' sake – could fight like _that._ The mech was downright _dangerous._ It was a wonder he had tolerated their harassment while on patrol with him. And, while neither twin said anything out loud, they both knew that if they had known about Prowl's abilities in this area, they probably would not have been so eager in their abuse of him.

Slag, they had gotten lucky.

They glanced at each other.

"Six joors." Sideswipe whispered. And there was no sign the mech was tiring any time soon. "What are we gonna do?"

"We aren't gonna do anything." Sunstreaker huffed. "I only got one arm."

"I know, but…" Sideswipe gestured to the screen. "That can't be good."

"Let him calm down on his own." Sunstreaker reiterated. "It's just the two of us and you see he's beating the slag out of three of them at a time. Scratch that, its _seven_ now. Unless you want to go find at least four more dimwits who are willing to risk their spark to go in there."

Sideswipe blinked, looking at his twin. "You just called us dimwits."

Frowning Sunstreaker thwacked him upside the helm with his remaining arm. "We would be if we just went in there."

Sideswipe frowned, as Prowl leapt onto one of his opponents, severing his frame in two and then used his momentum to plunge his hand deep into the chassis of another only to rip the spark chamber free. "We gotta tell the Prime."

"And get in trouble for hunting him down like this?" Sunstreaker demanded.

"Better than letting _that_ loose on the base." His twin made a reluctant affirming noise and Sideswipe hesitated a nanosecond longer before tentatively opening a comm. channel. _/Optimus Prime, sir… this is Sideswipe. I uh… have a situation to report./_

There was a momentary delay and then Optimus responded, somehow managing not to sound even the slightest bit annoyed at the unexpected interruption. _/Go ahead, Sideswipe./_

_/It's Prowl sir./_ Sideswipe winced as a holographic mech slammed helm first into the training room wall before dissolving into pixels. _/He's in training room seven and…/_ He trailed off, not sure how to describe what they were seeing.

_/And what?/_ Optimus prompted after a long pause.

_/I'm… not sure what to call it, sir. Beating the slag out of everything, maybe? I dunno. But he's been going at it for six joors./_ Sideswipe paused, then added in his most serious voice, hoping beyond hope that the Prime would believe him and not brush this off as a prank. _/It's downright scary sir. He's really, __**really**__ pissed about something and… I think you should see it. He's dangerous right now, I swear on my spark./_

Another moment passed and Sideswipe shared a nervous look with Sunstreaker before Optimus replied. _/Very well. I am on my way./_

It took less than a breem for the Autobot leader to arrive. Never before had Sideswipe been as happy to turn a situation over to an authority figure as he was at that moment. The two front line warriors waited, exchanging nervous glances as the Prime considered the visual feed from the training room with heavy intensity.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Sideswipe. I will handle it from here. Return to your posts." It was a dismissal, one which neither twin had any intention of obeying.

Sunstreaker opened his mouth to object but Optimus had punched in his override, opening the doors to the training room. Both of the Twins stepped forward in tandem, horror written on their faceplates as the Prime stepped into the proverbial den of the Spark-eater, shutting the door behind himself.

Suddenly frantic, they lurched forward only to find the door locked again. Standard overrides would not budge it and they stepped back, even more at a loss than before. Should they call for additional back up? Was the Prime's life in danger?

Coming to the same conclusion simultaneously, they moved back to the monitor to watch the show that was sure to unfold.

… … …

Optimus considered Prowl on the monitor, watching as he fought three opponents on the simulated dojo's mat. He watched as one was dispatched only to be replaced by another. Six joors, Sideswipe had reported. A quick glance at the time logs confirmed that report. His engine revved lightly in distress, knowing what he was looking at.

He had seen the raw fury simmering in the black and white Praxian's gaze at the false accusation. He had felt the weight of Prowl's burning and frighteningly flat glare after Ratchet had helped defragment his processor. An injury that should never have been allowed to happen.

No, he did not blame Prowl for his outrage. He had hoped that giving the mech a chance to work through it would be sufficient, but now, deep in his spark, he knew that was not the case. He needed to act. Where he had failed to act before, he had a duty to do so now. He was the Prime and this was not something he could avoid.

Without looking at the twin front line warriors he dismissed them. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Sideswipe. I will handle it from here. Return to your posts."

He did not wait to see if his order would be followed, but overrode the controls on the door and stepped through. Then he quickly sealed the door, locking it with his own override. No one else would be getting in any time soon. He did not need any unplanned arrivals complicating matters.

Prowl never paused, never even hesitated in his fight, continuing as if completely unaware of the Prime's presence, which Optimus knew to be untrue. Optimus, for his part, stood still; watching Prowl move with the deadly grace of a well-trained fighter. He was even deadlier than Prime had witnessed during their sparing match. It was impressive to say the least and after a full breem with no change in tempo or rhythm, Optimus slowly started to circle the raised mat.

He looked past the fluid aggression in the Praxian's movements and studied the mech himself. He could easily see the anger, the pent up frustration, the hopelessness and the raw pain that fed Prowl's current behavior. He knew he bore a large portion of responsibility for that pain.

Brushing the matrix with his spark, feeling it affirm his decision, Optimus spoke softly, though loud enough he knew the sensitive doorwinged mech would hear even over the sounds of his fight. "Even I had underestimated your skills in hand to hand combat."

Prowl did not stop moving, pounding his fists and his pedes into his holographic opponents in rapid succession. His voice, when he answered, was flat but strained though not from physical exertion. "You should not be here, Prime."

"On the contrary. This is exactly where I should be." Optimus stayed calm, his voice sincere and concerned but still reverberating with the ring of command.

Abruptly Prowl stopped fighting, his arms falling to his side, though his fists remained clenched and his vents flared as he sucked in rapid drafts of air to cool his frame. The holograms froze when he did, shimmered slightly and then faded from existence leaving Prowl and Optimus alone in the simulated dojo.

The two stared at each other for a long moment and Optimus was careful to keep his posture open and nonthreatening though also without evidence of weakness.

Then a short burst of air hissed through Prowl's vents. "Where are your guards?" He spit bitterly. "Surely you know it is unwise to be _alone_ with someone like me."

There was pain mixed with the bitterness and a hint of challenge, especially as Prowl continued. "The last time they found us in here it did not go so well for me."

Optimus allowed a tiny nod. He had to concede that point, though he did not waver. "I used my personal codes to lock the door. It is just us: we won't be disturbed."

Instead of being reassured, Prowl's golden optics narrowed, his stance not relaxing at all. "That was foolish. I am not inclined to be civil at the moment."

Optimus hesitated at that. Was it a warning? A threat? He did not doubt the mech's words as the evidence clearly pointed to their validity. Curious, he spoke with careful neutrality. "Have you deleted your ethical coding?"

"Of course not." Prowl growled angrily, optics glinting. "You know that isn't an option."

By that Optimus also knew, as incredible as it was, that neither had Prowl chosen to view the Autobots as anything but an allied faction, despite all that had been done to him. Based on that, he took a cautious step closer and asked softly. "And now you resent having bound yourself like that, being trapped by your own coding?"

He could tell he hit a raw neural wire when Prowl physically jerked back, his doorwings flaring violently if only briefly. "Are you here to rub that in?"

There was understated challenge in that question as well as an almost tentative vulnerability that did not match the fury and power the mech had just displayed. Instantly Optimus understood: even if that was what he chose to do, Prowl would not retaliate. He could not, and he knew it and that made him vulnerable.

That understanding clinched Optimus' spark, affirming his decision and he answered gently with a single shake of his helm. "No."

He could see the surprise hit Prowl in the form of stiffening doorwings and continued, taking another small step toward the raised mat. "I came to apologize."

"To apologize?" Suspicion and anger wrapped themselves together so tightly in those words that they came out flat and dark. Disbelieving, and Optimus could not fault him for it.

"Yes." Optimus glanced to the side, not submitting but yielding him the moral high ground. "For putting you through that. You tried to warn me but I did not listen. I let my anger at the loss of that many Autobots cloud my judgment and allowed something to happen that I never should have and you were hurt because of that failure."

His sparkfelt words rang between them for a long handful of astroseconds before Prowl's frame lost the edge of its tension. With a release of heated air, Prowl likewise averted his gaze, lowering it a fraction. "You had a right to be angry and suspicious. I cannot deny the evidence looked damning."

Optimus gently shook his helm. "Perhaps. But I have no excuse for allowing what I did."

Prowl looked at him again, his gaze testing before it was averted once more and Optimus knew his apology would be received now. He stepped onto the raised mat and faced Prowl formally. "Prowl, in writing your ethical coding as you did, you trusted me not to abuse it, even if only subconsciously or unintentionally. I failed you. I betrayed that trust and I apologize."

Prowl's optic's widened, his mouth opening a fraction though no sound came out. Then Prowl looked away and Optimus could see the silent struggle and waited patiently for the mech's response.

When it finally came the anger had faded but that only allowed the pain and hurt to show more clearly. "Do you expect your apology to make things right?"

Optimus shook his helm. "No."

Prowl blinked again, further taken aback, and Optimus continued. "I cannot change what has already happened. All I can do is give you my word that I will do all within my power not to let it happen again."

"You cannot promise me you won't have my processor scanned again." The retort was sharp and bitter.

Optimus nodded, accepting that fact. "Perhaps not. But you have proven yourself in _several_ ways today and I definitely foresee the orn when they will no longer be necessary at all."

Prowl just stared at him, suspicion, frustration, hope and confusion all warring with half a dozen other emotions in his amber gaze.

Prowl seemed at a loss for a response. Either that, or he did not trust himself to respond in an appropriate manner.

Optimus released a weary vent of air. "Prowl you were absolutely correct. Regardless of your assigned post, you will always be a senior tactician. I do not believe you will be in the position of _junior_ tactician for long."

Prowl's optics turned calculating, evaluating, and he was a moment in answering. "I am to remain in tactical then?"

"If that is your wish."

"My wish?" Incredulity oozed out of those two words.

Optimus nodded, his tone broking no argument. "You are not a drone, Prowl. Serving as an Autobot tactician is a sensitive enough position I do not want you to take it just because you feel you have no option. Smokescreen will still be your commanding officer. Will you be able to work under him after this?"

Prowl did not answer immediately and Optimus had the opportunity to see his expression change. Then he released a resigned vent, looking down. When he spoke his voice was soft, almost as if begging to be believed. "What I _want_ is to help you defeat Megatron. I can best do that as a tactician."

Optimus nodded, accepting that answer, but it did not address the question he had asked. "And Smokescreen?"

Prowl was silent for a few seconds his expression changing fractionally again and Optimus was surprised to see it actually grew thoughtful and lost the edge of the hardness that had held Prowl like a vice. "Do you believe he has learned from this?"

Optimus blinked, that not being what he expected to hear. He answered slowly, evaluating the mech before him anew. "Smokescreen is skilled at what he does, but he is young and has never had to juggle command where his most junior member is his former mentor and superior officer." Prowl nodded to the obviousness of that statement even as Optimus continued. "I doubt the same mistake will be made again… that does not mean there won't be others."

Prowl snorted air through his vents at that, his expression turning a hint wry, though he continued to watch Optimus carefully. "Indubitably. Smokescreen is a sharp student however. He seldom made the same mistake twice."

"Can you think of him beyond being your apprentice?" Optimus asked softly, intrigued at the change he was seeing in the Praxian.

Prowl only cocked an optic ridge. "Smokescreen will always be my apprentice, even if he is also my boss."

And Optimus _knew_ Prowl was serious. For some reason, even though it was clearly Smokescreen's actions that had led to him having his processor fragmented, Prowl was willing to give his former student leeway based on the younger mech's inexperience. Whether it was sparkfelt or an intentional mental stance to make the situation palatable was unknown, but it was still the case. Incredible.

At length Optimus nodded. "Report to tactical command on the second shift of next orn." Prowl signaled his understanding and Optimus returned the gesture. "Thank you for speaking with me, Prowl."

Optimus blinked as Prowl's optics grew a touch harder realizing he was still on touchy ground with the tactician. His words confirmed that. "You say that as if I had a choice."

Optimus did not back down. "You did. Had you asked me to leave, I would have honored your request. For a time, at least."

"I did." Prowl's engine _almost_ growled.

"You _suggested_ I leave, you did not ask me to." Optimus corrected, cocking his own optic ridge in understated challenge, though he softened it with a gentle smile. "Your ethical coding allows you to make requests, especially if given an open invitation to do so, which is what I am providing."

"An _open_ invitation?" Prowl asked, barely above a whisper, disbelief filling his mostly stoic visage.

Optimus nodded. "Yes. In return, I give you _my_ word that I will give such requests the same consideration I would any other Autobot under my command."

Prowl's frame froze entirely, though his vents flared. "I am not an Autobot."

Acknowledging that observation Optimus did not waiver. "Not yet. However, that orn is near, if you still wish to officially join us after all of this."

He saw something almost intangible flash through Prowl's optics and then he witnessed the tactician's silent struggle to subdue it. The matrix whispered to his spark, confirming what he suspected Prowl needed to hear and it stunned Optimus almost as much as it humbled him.

Not taking his optics off the smaller, black and white mech he spoke, his deep voice thrumming with the full weight of his conviction. "You have not betrayed the trust I have given you, Prowl. I do not regret having done so."

The way Prowl's frame relaxed, the tension ebbing almost palpably, was all the proof Optimus needed. Prowl looked down, as if overwhelmed with the weight of his relief. Optimus knew then that the potential depth of Prowl's loyalty was staggering in its implications. He was not motivated by fear of punishment, not any longer, but by a desire not to disappoint. When exactly that change had happened, Optimus was not sure, but it imparted a much greater burden onto his shoulders, even above that imposed by the mech's revamped ethical coding. Even so, he would not rebuff that responsibility. He was a Prime, after all.

"Good orn, Prowl." Optimus stepped back, off the mat, sensing that Prowl needed some time to sort through everything they had discussed.

Optimus was almost to the training room door when Prowl called out to him.

"Prime…" Optimus paused, looking back. Bright golden optics searched his for a long moment. "Thank you, sir."

Optimus acknowledged that and then unlocked the door.

Letting the portal close behind him, Optimus looked with bemused irritation at the crowd now gathered there. Courtesy of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, no doubt. They were staring at him with awe and that reverence that never ceased to make him feel uneasy.

He focused on the two Twins, not doubting _why_ they had tracked Prowl to the training room to begin with. Sunstreaker's missing arm made their intentions fairly obvious. He spoke specifically to them, but was glad that his words would reach all the other listening audios as well.

"Sunstreaker, Sideswipe. I strongly recommend you do not bother him at this time." He spoke firmly, turning it into an order.

"What _was_ that, sir?" Sideswipe's gaze flicked between him and the closed door at his back.

Prime released a vent. "He was working off the anger and frustration of being _falsely_ accused of devising a strategy that intentionally resulted in the recent tragedy. That strategy was wrongly attributed to him."

The Twins were not the only ones surprised by that statement.

Sunstreaker was the one who spoke. "You mean that wasn't his strategy? Because it sure wasn't like the stuff Smokescreen usually gives us."

Optimus shook his helm. "It was based on his work, but ultimately was not his plan in that he had no say in its final development."

All of the gathered mechs looked at each other, some still openly hostile, others with a smattering of guilt at whatever they had been thinking or saying. It took a long moment, but finally Sunstreaker nodded his acceptance of the Prime's statement. Sideswipe quickly echoed his twin.

But Optimus did not move, maintaining his position blocking the door to the training room. He would not allow Prowl to be harassed at this juncture. His gaze on the two Terror Twins hardened slightly when they glanced past him at the door, making it clear he would not tolerate any antics on their part.

Clearly sensing his intention and resolve, they backed off a half step as the others began to disperse. Sinking a little lower on their struts, the two front line warriors soon followed suit.

Releasing another weary vent, Optimus returned to his office, his steps slow and ponderous. At times like this, he wished Elita was on the base, she always seemed to know what to say and when to kick him in the tailpipe and when he needed reassurance.

… … …

Prowl did not leave the training room immediately after the Prime departed, choosing to meditate until he fully regained control of himself. Now that he was not focused on his own fury and need to _vent_, he could sense the accumulated spark signatures just outside the training room. He did not know what their purpose was, doubtlessly they had been concerned about their Prime. A part of him worried briefly that once Optimus left, they would swarm in to punish him for whatever they thought had happened.

But the Prime did not leave, he stayed between the masses and the entrance of the training room, as if guarding it from them. That understanding floored Prowl while simultaneously letting hope flare through his spark. Who was he that the _Prime_ would assume such a mundane role?

His spark was already settling back into its normal, steady rhythm by the time the congregating mechs began to depart, dispersing back to whatever they had been doing before converging at the training room.

Optimus stayed outside the training room for several breems after the others had gone, as if ensuring they would respect his privacy. As the leader of the Autobots slowly took his own leave, Prowl allowed himself to consider the conversation he had just had with the Prime.

Optimus had apologized. He had taken responsibility for the whole situation and had _apologized_. He had done so even knowing the danger that could put him in if Prowl had chosen to retaliate for the insults, the suffering…

He choked off that thought. He had expected nothing less than what had happened, worse even, when he had been apprehended in Praxus. He knew he had helped the Decepticons to kill countless Autobots, he had been the one to intentionally target unarmed medics. While the accusation had been false in this case, he could not honestly say he did not deserve what had been done. The opportunity to integrate into Autobot forces was a privilege, an opportunity he had had no right to expect. One he still had no right to presume upon.

That did not remove the frustration and infuriating helplessness that permeated his current existence, but it did help him put it back into proper perspective.

By the time he felt ready to return to the rest of the base it was in the middle of the night shift and he was finally feeling the drain on his systems that his rampage, in conjunction with a failure to refuel, had caused. Taking advantage of the mostly abandoned halls, he made his way to the rec room to collect some energon.

His pede falls echoed softly off the metal walls and he relaxed into his isolation this time; it was exactly what he needed as he was not looking forward to facing the rank and file Autobots. Not if they held the same mindset their superiors had concerning his presumed culpability in the recent mission.

Taking the softly glowing cube, he decided to walk across the corridor to the observation deck. He moved, almost soundlessly to stand before the tall windows that overlooked the Iacon skyline. Overhead a trine of Autobot seekers flew along their assigned patrols. Lights twinkled in various buildings. The graceful lines of Iacon's ancient architecture were bathed in gentle grays and blues in the reflected light of Cybertron's moon.

It was quiet as life continued on. It was a return to the ordinary, the natural flow of existence and it helped lend a sense of peace and tranquility to his still calming internals and his rattled emotional center.

He released a long vent of air, letting himself soak in the stillness of the recharging city.

Then he stiffened, his doorwings picking up an approaching mech.

Behind him, the door to the observation deck slid open and nearly silent pede falls met his audios just before the door slid shut again. The unmistakably, eerily quiet systems of the other mech identifying him just as accurately as the sparksignature blazing across his sensors.

Half a dozen emotions immediately flashed through Prowl's CPU, most of them nearly shattering the delicate peace he had so recently achieved.

The mech paused just inside the door and then glided closer, stopping a fair distance away but close enough to signal his intention to force a confrontation.

Prowl released another vent. The silver minibot was the overseer of his probation. He had no way out of this, not if the other mech chose to push the issue. He deemed it illogical to delay the matter further.

Carefully reinforcing the stoic mask hiding his emotions he broke the uneasy silence, still not looking away from the crystalline window, though he was no longer really seeing the panoramic view it offered.

He addressed the other mech resignedly. "Jazz."

* * *

_Okay, before all of you write really nasty reviews, I know this is a really mean place to leave it... but it is already the longest chapter to date. Also, rest assured, as the title suggests, it will only get better for Prowl from here. (Slag, I hate giving away plot points but I wanted to reassure everyone about that.) That said, I am very interested in hearing your thoughts._

_PS: I offer my apologies ahead of time because the next chapter will not be up before the weekend because I am going out of town on business, but I will get it up as quickly as I can. Promise._


	24. Apologies

_To everyone who reviewed the last chapter… awesome! The response was much more than I ever anticipated. I never knew angst would garner that many positive reviews. :) Perhaps I should do more of that… Just kidding. The title of the last chapter was "Turning Point" because that was exactly what that situation was. I apologize for not being able to respond to everyone but I have truly enjoyed every review I have gotten. I hate to sound selfish, but I hope this chapter keeps them coming. :D_

_Oh… I have gone over all the reviews again three times now and I can't find it, but one of you expressed an interest in knowing how Hound would respond to Prowl now. I realized I hadn't actually addressed that in my outline and I thought it was a great idea to include so… You know who you are: Thank you!_

* * *

Jazz paused three steps into the observation area, his gaze locked onto the rigid flare of Prowl's doorwings. The former Decepticon said nothing, though he had to know he was no longer alone. Pit, Prowl probably even knew who was standing behind him. Slowly, cautiously, Jazz moved closer. While he had not seen the recordings of Prowl's six-joor long fight in the training room, he already heard the rumors about it. He was not a fool and knew the fury that had fueled it should, legitimately, be directed at him.

He stopped again, well outside even the most generous description of 'personal space' and waited. He was not sure what to do now.

Actually, that was not entirely true. He knew what he _had_ to do, he was just not sure how it would be received, especially as the Praxian never even flicked a doorwing to indicate acknowledgement of his presence.

Then those stiff armor plates shifted as the black and white mech released a resigned vent. "Jazz."

His designation was spoken without inflection and it made Jazz wince, wondering just what the other mech expected him to do. At least it was not a gruff dismissal – nor the raging accusation it could have been.

He hesitated an astrosecond longer, then walked a few steps closer, stopping at a respectful distance. "Prowl."

The uneasy silence stretched long between them as Prowl continued to stare out at the night landscape, though Jazz had the distinct impression the Praxian was watching him far more closely than he was the impressive view.

When nothing more was forthcoming, not that Jazz could blame Prowl – though he would have expected at the very least a heated demand to know what he wanted – the saboteur took the initiative. "May I stay?"

Prowl stirred then, shooting him a look that while expressionless was still seething. "It is not like I could keep you from doing so."

Jazz winced minutely at Prowl's patently angry reminder that the tactician was well aware of their respective positions in their relationship. He looked away, not wanting the clearly defensive mech to feel he was being forced "Ya could say no… ya could ask me ta leave. I would."

And that was exactly what Jazz anticipated, knowing that in Prowl's place, he would not want to speak to him again, probably not for a few orns at best. But Jazz knew he would not be able to recharge peacefully unless he at least attempted to set things right with the tactician.

Prowl snorted air through his vents, spinning back to the window, apparently not deeming that promise worth replying to.

Jazz did not move. Was that a dismissal or tacit acceptance of his presence? While he knew it did not really matter, his position as the overseer of the former Decepticon's probation gave him the authority to stay if he wished, he was remarkably reluctant to impose on Prowl any more than necessary. Especially now.

When the Praxian was silent for a whole breem, Jazz took that as permission enough. He shifted forward a half step, hesitating a sparkbeat before he found his voice and said what he had come to say. "I… I was angry. I thought ya had betrayed our trust… _my_ trust… and I was angry and I hurt ya because of it. Because I thought you had _wanted_ all those mechs to be killed. I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."

Prowl turned fully to look at him then, surprised but also angry though he diligently sought to hide both. Jazz could see the warring emotions however and he looked aside as Prowl spoke. "You've _seen_ my ethical coding. That tracer program was _designed_ by you. And you have been in my head enough times to _know_ the truth."

Jazz nodded, not looking up. Prowl was absolutely right. In retrospect, his suspicions had been unsubstantiated from the very beginning. Prowl's was not the first processor he had fragmented in his career, but it was the first time he desperately wished he had not and he was suddenly struck with the strut-deep desire to make sure Prowl understood that fact, even if it changed nothing.

"I should have. I know I don't have an excuse." He admitted, still looking down. "I let anger cloud my judgment and I hurt ya… More than just fragmentin' you're processor, I can see that. Ya trusted me, to give me access like that, and I hurt ya anyway. I was wrong to do it, and I know that." Taking a steadying intake of air, Jazz retracted his visor and lifted his now unmasked optics back to Prowl's. "Ya didn't deserve what I did to ya and I'm sorry."

His own emotions were now open for Prowl to see. Jazz did that intentionally, even if he had to fight back the instinctive unease at being so vulnerable. In his line of work, it was dangerous, but at this moment it felt...right. He had learned to trust such instincts, even if trying to find a rational, systematic reason for them would burn out his logic systems.

Prowl managed to control his own reaction, but Jazz had been in his processor enough times to catch the hints to what he was feeling. He saw the equal parts surprise, shock, irritation and distrust that lingered there.

When the tactician spoke, he was even more inflectionless than before. "So, you are here to ask my forgiveness."

Jazz just managed to avoid recoiling physically as he shuttered his optics at the near accusation. He shook his helm sadly. "No. 'Cause if I did, ya would feel _compelled_ ta give it. I ain't gonna do that to ya." He allowed a wistful smile to touch the corner of his lip plate. "If, however, someorn ya do feel inclined ta forgive me, I would be very grateful."

Prowl blinked at him, clearly not expecting that, and gradually his frame relaxed from its rigid intensity, almost as if a vice had been released from around his spark. By that Jazz knew Prowl understood why he had not asked forgiveness and that he appreciated the consideration in the matter.

"Thank you for that, Jazz." Prowl spoke very softly, almost as if to himself and it was followed by a long pause before golden optics focused fully on him once more. "Perhaps, in time, I will be able to give you what you seek."

It was Jazz's turn to blink. He had not expected even that much. He nodded gratefully. "When it's no longer my job to scan your processor." Prowl dipped his helm a fraction and Jazz dared to relax, dared to hope.

The saboteur flicked a brief smile. "Until then, is it still alright if I ask ya to join me for energon every now and then?"

Prowl's engine made a choking noise and the tactician looked away. Jazz stilled his vents, worried he may have asked for too much. Then Prowl lifted his gaze back up though the experienced spy could not quite discern the emotions he was seeing there.

"I can hardly prevent you from _asking_." It was said with bland neutrality that was just as hard to read as his expression. It was not a promise that Prowl would accept the invitation, but it did not rule out the possibility either.

After a nanosecond, Jazz decided he had no right to expect more.

Jazz allowed himself to grin, though it was still subdued. "I'll take it." Then he sobered, sensing the tension that still stretched between them and realized he had only made the first tentative steps in breaking it. He had a lot of work to do just to restore their relationship to the strained, uneasy and strange association it had been before.

Jazz released a vent of air. "I'm truly sorry, Prowl." It was lame and he almost winced at how much so. There was no response from the Praxian and Jazz took a step back, figuring he had overstayed his welcome. "Anyway, thanks for lettin' me stay and chat."

Reluctantly, he turned and walked back to the door, his armor heavy across his shoulders. He had almost reached the portal when Prowl called his designation. Surprised, Jazz turned back, hopefulness and trepidation swirling in his still visorless gaze.

Prowl hesitated, his thoughts mostly inward, and then continued. "You did nothing to me today that I did not expect the first time you walked into my cell. I was not expecting it at this late a juncture. I will be more prepared next time."

Jazz winced visibly. He knew it was not a threat, even though it easily could have been and it sent a stab of guilt through his spark. Prowl was expecting similar treatment in the future, should another scan of his processor be ordered. And they both knew one could be.

The look of subdued pain that flashed through Prowl's optics as he acknowledged that reality made Jazz want to melt into the decking in shame and he found himself shaking his helm adamantly. "No. While I might have ta scan ya in the future, I promise I ain't goin' to hurt ya like _that_ again."

Prowl straightened, his optics flashing and Jazz could tell he was struggling to decide whether to believe him. After a handful of seconds Prowl's doorwings slumped just a fraction and the tactician looked away. "I wish I could believe that, Jazz."

It felt like a slap, but Jazz could not deny he deserved it. He nodded, acknowledging Prowl's statement. "You had started to trust me and I betrayed that trust, I know. I'm sorry."

"So am I." Prowl's voice was so low that Jazz almost missed it.

Once the words registered, they filled Jazz simultaneously with sadness and hope. Sadness that he had shattered the fragile trust Prowl had started to give him, possibly destroying any chance for friendship that there might have been. Hope that perhaps Prowl had once desired that friendship as well, and that if that was the case, there was the prospect that he might be willing to try trusting him again.

In that moment Jazz silently vowed that he would not do anything that would violate Prowl's trust again, that he would not jump to conclusions about the mech's loyalties, and that he would even watch Prowl's back if necessary. He could not verbalize words to that effect, not yet and maybe never, but he meant them all the same.

He was not brave enough yet to investigate his motives to closely.

… … …

Prowl arrived at the tactical command the next orn, precisely as ordered, unsure what he would face. If the whispers and stares he had received in the halls on his way to his post were any indication, he doubted it would be pleasant.

All activity in the large room came to a halt as every optic focused on him. His doorwings twitched a millimeter or three before he could stop them, and he glanced around, looking for his former apprentice turned commanding officer.

Smokescreen looked up from where he was peering over a subordinate's shoulder when Prowl entered and their gazes locked. The moment grew incrementally more uneasy until finally the younger tactician seemed to gather his wits and gestured Prowl toward his office.

Privacy. Something Prowl both desired and dreaded for this inevitable encounter.

Nevertheless he gave a crisp nod and obediently walked that direction.

Smokescreen followed, stepping around him after closing and locking the door. Prowl was stiff, bright amber optics staring flatly at his former apprentice as Smokescreen faced him. For a long moment it seemed as if Smokescreen lost himself in that gaze, a gaze that was strikingly similar to the optic color he had utilized before the war.

Prowl's expression changed subtly, almost imperceptibly, and maybe Smokescreen was just imagining it. Those golden optics were still impassive and almost emotionless, but Smokescreen knew Prowl well enough to know that was just a mask. His former mentor was waiting for something in particular and, while his expression was in no way inappropriate, it was more akin to that of a teacher waiting for a student to admit he had done something incredibly stupid rather than simply that of a subordinate waiting for an assignment.

Amazingly, Prowl managed to do both at the same time.

After a long moment, Smokescreen vented a gust of air. "Prowl…"

"Reporting as ordered, sir." Prowl interrupted blandly, though that faintly expectant aspect of his expression did not change.

Smokescreen managed not to wince, realizing his former commander would not make it easy on him to utter the apology, the explanation, he knew common decency demanded of him. He looked away, knowing he did not _deserve_ to have it easy. Even so, another part of his processor argued that there was no need for him to apologize since Prowl had yet to do so for _his_ betrayal.

Finally he forced himself to meet Prowl's intense if still inscrutable amber gaze. This would not be an easy conversation, but it was necessary if they were to be able to work together.

"Prowl, your skills and abilities are needed in this department. I cannot deny that. However, it is also evident there are some unresolved issues we need to address." It came out harsh; not exactly the prelude to the apology he had intended it to be.

Prowl's gaze sharpened minutely. "Indeed. What is it you wish me to address?"

Smokescreen's systems hitched and he had to subdue a frustrated rev of his engine. He might have instinctively tried to prove his command over Prowl when he had first been assigned to his division, but Prowl was now doing almost the exact same thing, except in reverse. Prowl was deliberately positioning himself well below Smokescreen on the command chain, except it was equally clear he wanted nothing more than to chew Smokescreen out.

"About what happened with that last mission…" he hesitated again, trying to gather his resolve and determine how to handle the situation where he was _wanting_ to talk to Prowl more on an equal footing but the other Praxian was determined not to allow himself to be an equal player.

"I accepted full responsibility." Prowl answered tightly into Smokescreen's pause, theunspoken reminder that he had done so _on _Smokescreen's order feeling like a blow to his faceplate. "Considering what happened, you are well within your legal rights, according to Core Division policy number five hundred and thirty six, paragraph four, to place an official reprimand in my…"

"Prowl, stop it!" Smokescreen snapped.

Obediently, Prowl immediately fell silent, looking at him with that blend of submission and expectation, though now with a hint of worry as well.

"You enjoying making this difficult on me?" He asked, frustrated and not liking the plaintive note his voice had taken on. He turned away from Prowl to pace the short distance to the other wall in his office before turning back. "It's hard enough to apologize without you acting like an aft about it."

Prowl blinked three times in rapid succession. That was clearly not what he had anticipated. Then he lowered his gaze completely, the almost defiant edge leaving his doorwings as something like pain flashed briefly through his optics.

"My apologies, Smokescreen." There was genuine contrition now draped across the lines of Prowl's armor. "I do not mean to make things difficult for you. I never have."

Smokescreen found he almost could not cycle air at the raw pain he heard just underneath the surface of those words. It prompted him to continue, giving him his wits back long enough to speak.

"I let pride blind me." He stated softly, the words strained. "And arrogance. Then I was a coward."

Prowl said nothing as Smokescreen looked away, needing a moment to gather himself. He was neither boastful at the admission nor excited by it. It was an expression Smokescreen remembered well from his early days as an enforcer under Prowl's command and tutelage and while it was distinctly unsettling it was almost… nostalgic.

The younger tactician actually found himself relaxing fractionally, gaining by Prowl's steadiness the confidence that Prowl would be just as fair now as he had always been, even though a part of his processor knew Prowl was not the one in authority here.

But in remembering the _good_ things about his history with Prowl – his strength in leadership and the steadfastness of his personality which Smokescreen had always admired as well as how patient a teacher he had always been – Smokescreen realized just how much of a fool _he_ had been.

Yes, Prowl had betrayed him when he had gone to Megatron, but he had done no less in abusing his position of authority over Prowl when the evidence clearly pointed to the fact Prowl was _trying_ to make amends for his past transgressions.

Prowl was no longer a Decepticon. Even if he was not one in actuality yet, he was an Autobot in spark. He always had been back in Praxus and it made the question of _why_ he would have thought to turn to the Decepticons at all even more a mystery, regardless of whatever logical reasons he might have had.

Smokescreen found himself speaking then, the words spilling out of his spark as if the mech standing in front of him were still a trusted mentor, and he was having to explain his latest gaffe. "At the very least, I should have brought the plan back to you for another review before approving it."

Then it hit Smokescreen with the force of a proverbial blow to his doorwings. It was not _just_ a gaffe; it was a critical mistake that had resulted in many good mechs loosing their lives and with Prowl being hurt in more ways than one. His fault. No wonder Prowl wanted to chew him a new exhaust port. And yet Prowl was here, still willing to work under his command even after that; having all but debased himself to make their relationship work only for Smokescreen to accuse him of being difficult about the matter.

The lump that threatened to back up his energon lines coalesced, making the rest of his words come out in an almost breathless rush. "I failed to take into account the complexity of your tactics and believed they could be effectively adjusted by others who have not had the extensive training and experience you have. But, more than that… I should not have foisted blame onto you."

He waited, vents heaving, for what Prowl's reaction would be, forgetting for the moment that he was the one in command.

Prowl nodded, his posture relaxing ever so slightly and then formally dipped his helm, averting his gaze. The deliberate movements forcibly reminded Smokescreen of the change in their relative positions.

Prowl's words only added to it. "That is true. However, you were also _correct_ to point out that I am not in a position of senior tactician. I should have done a better job of taking that fact into account. Where my negligence has caused reproach on the Tactical Division, I offer my apologies."

The formal apology nearly made Smokescreen's balance systems hitch, as he knew it was not Prowl's fault. It was the type of apology a low ranking mech would offer their department commander; an act that specifically served to reinforce the chain of command for both parties and something in the younger mech rebelled at the idea that _Prowl_ was the one having to make it.

Nevertheless, it reminded him of other pressing issues.

He nodded formally as accepting Prowl's statement was the only thing he could do that would not disgrace either of them further. He spoke slowly, uneasily. "You suggested either limiting your assignments to junior level tasks or assigning you a monitor. Which is your preference?"

Prowl blinked and the tense set of his shoulder plating relaxed a hint more as he realized the choice he was being given and _why._ "Whichever will best utilize my abilities for your department."

Prowl hesitated, seeing Smokescreen's unease and spoke again, his expression thoughtful and uncertain. "Being a monitor in a situation like this can serve as a tremendous learning opportunity, if one is so inclined. Your staff might not have had a great deal of advanced tactical training, but there is no reason that cannot change."

Smokescreen's optics widened. "It… It would only be until the probationary period is up and you have been given a suitable rank. Then it won't be necessary any more."

Prowl nodded though they both knew that was not saying a whole lot. There was no telling when the others would deem his probationary period over and the lowest rank generally allowed to do senior level work without a monitor was a senior-lieutenant. It could be some time before he was deemed worthy of such a rank, if ever.

Nevertheless, Prowl appreciated the gesture and nodded his grateful understanding.

Smokescreen pursed his lip plates then, thinking. Seeing this, Prowl waited patiently.

True, Smokescreen had allowed pride to keep him from accepting his share of the responsibility until he had seen Prowl suffer because of it. The younger Praxian could easily remember the subdued look of pleading panic he had seen in his former mentor's gaze has he had tried to explain. Then, when that explanation was cut off _by_ Smokescreen… he had accepted full responsibility, even though it was not his to accept.

It was the action of a commander; to accept responsibility for those under their command.

That action had further served to shame Smokescreen. No wonder Prowl had initially come in defensive and overly cautious.

Now that he let himself _look_ at Prowl, the same mech he had once respected and trusted and was honored to be apprenticed to… He could see the older tactician, whiled humbled by his circumstances for sure, was also more solid, as if refined by trials and hardships that Smokescreen could only imagine.

Smokescreen straightened, coming to a decision. Seeing that, Prowl averted his gaze submissively and that only clinched Smokescreen's determination. "Because of me, others have come to doubt you. I want to amend that. We have an operation coming up; retaking one of our outposts in the Centari-tetrax region. I… want you to take lead developing that strategy."

Prowl's gaze shot up, optics wide. "Are you sure, Smokescreen?"

Smokescreen nodded, then smiled asymmetrically. "You were created to be a lead tactician, and a leader. Once your probation is over, once everyone learns to trust you, this office will be yours. Mechs will _have_ to get used to the idea."

Prowl's expression turned wary. "Smokescreen, I don't…"

Smokescreen shook his helm, cutting Prowl off. "I don't mind. Actually, I'm kinda relieved by the idea." He found his hands were fidgeting nervously and forced them back to his sides. "I mean; I'm a _diversionary_ tactician. Leadership was never my intended function. It isn't anything I've really ever wanted. I'm not very good at it and…"

"Smokescreen." Prowl interrupted. "The origin of your programming might be why you find leadership less than satisfactory, but you are learning the task well."

Smokescreen grew still, unable to look at Prowl as his doorwings trembled faintly. Now that he had resolved not to think of Prowl as _only_ being a former Decepticon, he was desperate for the type of encouragement only one's mentor could provide. He ruthlessly choked off the whining noise his engine tried to make, but the question that had been rolling around in his processor since he had joined the Autobots, and especially since Prowl had defected, slipped between his denta despite his efforts.

"Mistakes not withstanding?"

Smokescreen winced internally but could not suck the words back out of the air. He nearly jumped out of his armor when a black hand touched his arm briefly in a gentle request for his attention.

He was more grateful than he would ever be able to put to words when Prowl reacted to his moment of weakness and doubt without scorn. "Your mistakes have come from lack of experience, Smokescreen, not deficiencies in programming. You have the potential…"

Smokescreen found himself shaking his helm. "Maybe, but you are clearly the superior tactician and… I don't know… the balance of natural forces in the universe just seem off with _me_ being the commander."

He said it with a self-depreciating chuckle, but he was more serious than he wanted anyone to know. Then he straightened, regaining control.

Sensing that, Prowl dropped his own hand back to his side and waited. "You _should_ be a senior tactician, regardless of your history, and everyone else will come to realize that too. That is another reason I want you taking the lead on this assignment."

Prowl considered the younger mech silently, a touch bemused. Smokescreen might not have been programmed to be a leader, but experience was teaching him to become one.

Prowl nodded, accepting the change in topic. "Very well. Who will my monitor be?"

A simple question that should have been simple to answer, but Smokescreen's doorwings twitched uneasily with renewed nervousness. Then he stiffened and spoke with determination, as if anticipating objections from Prowl. "_I_ am going to be your monitor."

Prowl accepted that ultimatum without showing any of his reaction, which was actually that of faint relief. "Very well."

Smokescreen blinked, loosing the firmness of command. "You…don't mind?"

Prowl allowed a lip plate to twitch. "You are the Department Commander now. You have listened to my objections and recommendations, and have made your decision. I…"

"No!" Smokescreen shook his helm, almost frantic. "I mean… you don't mind _me_ being in your head for this?"

Prowl sucked in a draft of air, realizing what Smokescreen was actually asking. "I would not have recommended it if I were not at least resigned to it."

"That is not very enthusiastic."

"It is not a very pleasant experience." Prowl acknowledged. "Your presence is at least familiar and not likely to be as disruptive as others." He paused, considering his former apprentice carefully and then added much softer, almost tentatively, as if not wanting to overstep. "It remains true that this can still be a learning opportunity."

Smokescreen's systems stalled as he stared at Prowl with wide optics. "You… you would do that, even for me?"

Prowl's faceplate remained impassive and he spoke slowly, carefully, not wanting to presume too much. "At one time you were my apprentice. That fact will never change and I am not averse to helping you learn as much as I am able. When do you wish to start?"

It took a moment but a ghost of a smile slowly stretched across Smokescreen's faceplate and he straightened, slipping back into 'department leader' mode. He gestured back into the main tactical center. "Now."

Prowl gave a tiny, acknowledging bow and proceeded the younger mech from his office. Smokescreen led him, not to the centralized console, but to one of the five adjacent primary terminals.

Prowl was aware of the intermittent looks the other Autobots were giving them, but did his best to ignore them as he settled into one of the chairs at the terminal. Smokescreen pulled something out of subspace and when he placed it on the desk in front of him, Prowl could see it was a data hub. He glanced up at Smokescreen.

The white and gray Praxian gave him a partial smile. "I talked to Wheeljack and he made this for us. It's like a regular hub but it has a buffer so that, at least in theory, you shouldn't have to worry about processor aches because of necessity."

Optics widening a hair before he caught them, Prowl indicated his understanding as he accepted the appropriate cord. "I appreciate that. Thank you."

Smokescreen grimaced. "Don't thank me unless it works."

Prowl cocked an optic ridge. "As you wish. Shall we begin?"

At the other tactician's nod, Prowl inserted the cord into his port and allowed the hub to synch with his CPU. A moment later, at his nod, he could feel Smokescreen likewise synch with the hub.

"Are you familiar with the protocol for monitoring scenarios such as this?" Smokescreen asked, all business, his fingers hovering over the computer's controls.

Prowl nodded. "I am."

So saying he obediently dropped the outermost layer of his primary firewalls and created an opening through which Smokescreen would be able to monitor and access the parts of his processor that would be used during this analysis. Interestingly, his former apprentice's presence seemed more distant than it should, the discomfort such a one-way connection typically caused buffered by the hub.

Prowl met his former apprentice's expectant look and nodded. "The buffering modification appears to be functioning as designed. Are you able to access what you need?"

In response, he felt Smokescreen quickly 'examine' his evaluation of the hub and yet the typical discomfort that would have accompanied such an action was drastically less than what it would have otherwise been. It did not mean that after an orn of functioning through the hub that he would not have a processor ache, it only meant that that ache would be tolerable rather than the blistering pain he had anticipated.

Smokescreen nodded. "I think it works."

"Give Wheeljack my thanks then." Prowl intoned.

"I shall." Smokescreen smiled widely and then signaled the terminal. An instant later, data started flowing through it.

… … …

After spending the orn in tactical with Smokescreen Prowl had to admit, at least to himself, that he was more relaxed about his assignment than he had been before. Not that he expected his relationship with Smokescreen would be easy, but he was growing confident it would be functional.

At the end of the shift, Prowl waited politely until Smokescreen had disconnected from the hub before doing likewise. Despite the way the orn had started, Prowl felt oddly refreshed after being allowed to perform his function without restrictions, even if he had to have a monitor to do so. His frustration was dramatically reduced, leaving him feeling more amiable than he would have imagined possible at this time the previous orn.

The primary tactical staff were clearing out of the tactical center as the shift ended, leaving Prowl and Smokescreen relatively alone once again. Prowl felt he needed to say something.

"Thank you, Smokescreen."

The Autobot glanced at him, startled. "For what?"

"For trusting me in this manner, for taking a chance." Prowl hesitated, then gestured toward the now deactivated console.

"I am hardly taking a chance." Smokescreen hedged, looking anywhere but at him. "I know this is what you do best."

Prowl frowned, troubled that, Smokescreen seemed so uneasy and tentative and put two fingers on him arm to get the younger mech to look up at him. "Considering what happened last time, considering everyone else's opinion of me, it is a relatively substantial personal risk."

Prowl searched his former apprentice's gaze for a moment before continuing. "I should not have abandoned you as I did. I made what seemed, at the time, to be a logical choice. But I was wrong."

Smokescreen blinked and then shifted his weight. "Why _did_ you join Megatron?"

It was asked with simple – if intense – curiosity, not the accusation Prowl would have expected. "I wanted to end the war quickly. At the time Megatron seemed like the best choice toward that end."

"He would prefer to destroy what he cannot control." Smokescreen replied tersely.

Prowl nodded, looking away and letting his hand fall back to his side. "And does not worry about destroying those whom he _does_ control."

After a moment of silence, Smokescreen's light touch to _his_ arm brought Prowl's attention back up. "Hey, he's charismatic. He managed to convince a lot of mechs to the legitimacy of his cause. That he lied about his true intentions isn't your fault…"

"I saw the warning signs." Prowl objected softly, interrupting Smokescreen. "The same as you did. I chose to ignore them for the sake of expediency. Then it was simply easier to keep my denta shut in order to survive, and each time it became easier to overlook the atrocities I was helping to perpetrate until I was so enmeshed that there was no way out."

"But you are here now." Smokescreen disagreed.

"I am here because Megatron decided I had ceased to be of value to him and thought to have me killed in Praxus." Prowl shook his helm. "It finally opened my optics and gave me an easy way out."

"Easy?" Incredulity raised the pitch of Smokescreen's voice as well as both optic ridges. Nothing about Prowl's experience since coming to Iacon could accurately be called 'easy'.

Prowl quirked the corner of his lip plate. "All I had to do was surrender. I knew that alone would take me out of Megatron's control and assist the effort toward his defeat." His half-smirk fell. "It was all I could hope for at the time, but even deactivation or forced stasis was preferable to helping further the Decepticon's cause, especially after Praxus."

Smokescreen looked at Prowl, unable to speak for a long moment, realizing that while Prowl might not have apologized personally for betraying him, his every act since defecting – and his defection itself – was n act of reparation. Every hardship he embraced, every accusation he endured… even his willingness to submit to one who has once his apprentice.

The younger tactician's optics softened as he regarded his former mentor with fresh optics. Prowl was surprised to see the warmth that transformed Smokescreen's expression.

"I understand." The white hand on Prowl's arm tightened fractionally. "Thank you. I am glad you are finally on our side now; where you should be."

The remaining tension in Prowl's frame eased, and those stiff doorwings dipped in gratitude. The two mechs exchanged a look and both knew, though neither said anything out loud, that the vast rift in their relationship was much smaller than in had been only an orn before.

Shortly after that Prowl was leaving the tactical command, on his way to pick up Bluestreak from Ironhide. He did not doubt that the youngling would be worried about him, as he had not come by the previous night, and was working on what he would say to the little one even as he triggered the entry request chime.

Ironhide was the one who answered the request, greeting him with some reserve. The large black mech's open wariness reminded Prowl that not everyone would warm to him as quickly as Smokescreen had.

Movement behind Ironhide drew his attention to Chromia, who also took up a subtly defensive posture.

They did not know what to expect from him, Prowl realized.

The quiet, almost warning rev of Ironhide's engine redrew Prowl's focus and he felt his armor tighten against his frame. Still the weapon specialist did not seem like he quite knew how to address him. Prowl waited, very much aware of his place, reminded how antagonistic Ironhide had still been when he had left the briefing room.

The unofficial standoff continued until Bluestreak approached, almost tentatively. He glanced hesitantly up at Ironhide and Chromia as he edged around them to lightly touch Prowl's leg.

It was not the overtly enthusiastic greeting the tactician had grown to expect and that worried him.

Deciding to ignore the two adults, he turned his gaze onto Bluestreak and knelt, bringing them optic-to-optic.

Bluestreak did not speak at first, he just reached up and almost shyly put a hand on Prowl's chassis, blue optics quickly roving over him. "Ironhide said you were hurt, that you had something done to your processor that hurt you and that you needed time to recover."

Prowl blinked. "He was right."

"You said you would not get hurt here on the base. You, Ratchet, First Aid and Chromia all said you wouldn't get hurt here." The accusation was tinged with pain at the perceived deception.

Prowl's tanks churned. "That was what we believed at the time. It…" He thought about Jazz's promise and _wanted_ trust it, even if he was not confident he could. "It shouldn't happen again."

"What… what happened?"

Prowl released a vent of air. "Bluestreak… it is something I will need to explain once you are more mature." He winced at how pathetic a copout that sounded like and tried again. "It was a misunderstanding. A legitimate misunderstanding. Based on that, the treatment I received was… less than pleasant. But the situation has been resolved."

Bluestreak's lower lip plate quivered. "Ironhide said… whatever it was… that it made you act mean; that you weren't safe to be around."

Prowl stared, feeling like he had just been hit in the abdominal plating by a constructicon's pile driver and he had to resist the urge to glare at Ironhide. He had been dangerous for six joors and knew he could not contest that. It was why he had not wanted to allow himself to be in custody of Bluestreak until he had regained control.

Instead, Prowl gently placed a hand on a smaller shoulder. "I was angry, and I needed time to work through that. But you would never have been in danger."

"Then why? Don't you want me?"

Prowl stared, barely able to stop the whine his engine wanted to make as it felt like his spark was being twisted and sucked out of his frame. He ignored the twin angry growls of warning the two other adults made as he carefully tipped his helm down, to touch the base of his chevron against the tip of Bluestreak's helm.

Prowl shuttered his optics, speaking quietly, but the apology in his tone was clear. "I… I did not want you to see me like that. I did not want you to witness my loss of control, only because I did not want to frighten you. Nothing more."

Bluestreak's own optics shuttered and he leaned his helm against Prowl soaking up that reserved show of affection that was exactly what he needed. The moment stretched and Prowl waited, resolved not to be the one to break the contact.

"Okay." Bluestreak breathed nearly a half breem later. "Can I go home now?"

"Yes." It came out sounding choked and Prowl cleared his vents.

The youngling trilled with relieved happiness and reached up to loop his arms around Prowl's neck. It took Prowl a moment to figure out what Bluestreak intended, but once he did, he stood. Hooking an arm around the youngling as the little one curled up against him, Prowl faced the two Autobots.

Prowl's golden optics glinted. For the sake of young and impressionable audios, he initiated a comm. signal, including both sparkmates. _/Ironhide, I would appreciate it if, in the future, you refrained from trying to make him afraid of me./_

Ironhide did not back down, his engine growling lowly, but not enough to disturb the youngling. _/Yet you denied you were dangerous to him./_

The implication was that he was lying. Prowl let his engine rev lightly. _/I did not attack those directly responsible. Why would I displace that anger on an innocent sparkling? On the __**only**__ one on this base who never __**wanted**__ to hurt me?/_

Ironhide returned his glare for a long time, but this time, Prowl did not back down. His guardian subroutines might not be running, but Jazz had confirmed that was exactly what he was. He had the right here and he took it.

Finally, Ironhide's armor lost its borderline aggressive flare, flattening against his frame a fraction as air hissed through his vents. He looked away, lowering his gaze a non-threateningly . _/I see your point. It won't happen again./_

It was not an apology, but then Prowl would have been surprised if the burly mech had offered one. He nodded, accepting the other mech's statement at face value, realizing then that he _did_ trust Ironhide to abide by his promise, and allowed his own frame to relax back into a posture that signified he again acknowledged the black mech's authority over him.

He nodded, dipping his helm formally to each of them. "Thank you Ironhide, for watching Bluestreak for me. Chromia."

Ironhide returned the gesture while Chromia gave him a somewhat stiff, "Prowl."

For a moment, Prowl worried that he might have just made his relationship with Ironhide and Chromia that much more difficult. Then he decided it did not matter and turned walk down the corridor.

"Prowl." Bluestreak's troubled voice immediately redrew all his attention as they reached the door of their chamber. "Why would Ironhide lie to me?"

Prowl's steps almost faultered as he reached his door. He looked down at the youngling and released a vent of air. "I do not think Ironhide saw it as a lie." He finally verbalized a reality he was beginning to accept. "He likely believed I was truly dangerous."

"Why?" Bluestreak asked as the door slid shut behind them. "Was it because you were hurt?" Prowl nodded and Bluestreak continued. "Why were you hurt? What happened? You weren't in battle so it had to be someone on base. But why? Was it because no one trusts you? I thought they were starting to trust you."

Prowl released another system full of warm air. "Yes. That is a good deduction, Bluestreak."

"So, what happened?"

Prowl's processor spun rapidly, trying to find a safe way to explain, painfully aware of the monitoring equipment spotted around his quarters, made almost impossible to ignore thanks to his new doorwings. He spoke softly, voice carefully free of inflection. "I was accused of doing something, something that resulted in many mechs getting hurt, and I was treated accordingly. However, the accusation was made in error."

Bluestreak pushed away from his chassis, thinking hard. "_That _was why you were angry, because of the false accusation. Not just because you were hurt."

"Yes." Prowl could not help the tiny hint of a smile at the youngling's ability to read him and to reason out such things.

"Are you still angry?" Hopeful blue optics peered up at him hesitantly.

Prowl did not reply immediately, wanting to give the youngling an honest answer. To his own surprise, Prowl realized that most if not all of his _anger_ at what had happened had dissipated at some point during the orn. Hurt, disappointment, sadness, frustration and despair… all of those remained to some degree, but anger and fury were no longer part of the mix.

He shook his helm. "No, Bluestreak. I am not angry. Nor do I wish for you to be angry either. Everyone makes mistakes at times and, just as we might wish to be forgiven for our own errors, so must we be willing to forgive others who err against us."

Bluestreak considered that and then curled back against him. "Alright. I'll try." He was quiet for a long moment. "Prowl?"

"Yes Bluestreak?" Prowl asked, sliding into his chair.

"I want some more energon. Do… do you mind taking me to get some?"

Prowl straightened, looking down at his young charge. A sudden increase in fuel demands was one of the signs indicating time for a frame upgrade was approaching. He would need to keep a diligent optic out for other indicators. Similarly, the obvious ability for Bluestreak to reason out _why_ Prowl might be hesitant to go back into a public setting and his concern about asking prowl to do something that might be unpleasant was a clear indication of increasing maturity.

Despite the reticence he had about venturing into such a public facility under normal circumstances, let alone the events of the last few orn, Prowl would not deny Bluestreak if he needed the fuel. He nodded and stood.

"Of course, Bluestreak." He answered, heading for the door.

Thankfully, while not completely empty, the rec room was not overly crowded. That did not stop the comments and the stares that followed them. Bluestreak, aware of the unpleasant attention stayed close to Prowl.

He procured a cube for Bluestreak, handing the smaller container to the youngling, then got one for himself. The youngling followed him wordlessly to a side table. Prowl sat down with his back to the wall in a subtle compliance with self-preservation subroutines that were notifying him of the potentially threatening situation he was in. Bluestreak sat next to him rather than across and Prowl glanced down at the blue and gray sparkling in question.

Bluestreak smiled weakly. "I know you don't like being here. We can leave."

Prowl allowed his expression to ease reassuringly. "There is no need, not until we are finished as we are already here. Mechs will say what they wish." He considered the youngling for moment then leaned a little closer, lowering his voice. "Turn down your audios if it bothers you."

As if hearing his almost whispered words, the muttering and whispered speculations only picked up momentum. Interestingly, not all were blisteringly negative, even if most _were_ suspicious. Nevertheless, Prowl suspected Bluestreak's presence was the only reason they were not more biting. With a resigned ex-vent Prowl turned down his audios, despite the calculated danger of doing so in a potentially hostile environment. He would not be able to defend himself anyway, so it made little difference. He also refrained from attempting to identify spark signatures. The only thing he bothered to monitor in the slowly growing crowd in the rec room was the number and faction ID of the mechs present.

It might have been an action of self preservation – an effort to prevent himself from being overwhelmed by the hostility. Or it could have been an intentional method of helping him maintain his objectivity in that he would be planning an operation that might very well endanger some of these mechs and he did not even want to give himself the opportunity to make decisions based on insulting comments he might overhear. Prowl was not sure. Nor was he sure it even mattered.

Bluestreak apparently chose not to heed his advice and shifted closer to Prowl. He looked around warily and looked up at his guardian. "They… they don't really know what to think. Do they?"

Prowl resisted the urge to snort air through his vents. He opened his mouth to reply when a familiar sparksignature registered on his scanners only a moment before Hound's voice filled his audios.

"He's right. _I'm_ not sure what I should think, at least."

"Hound." Prowl greeted respectfully, standing. He was remotely aware Bluestreak sank lower in his chair, probably feeling the seriousness of the situation.

The two adults considered each other for a long moment before Prowl continued cautiously. "Is there something I can do to help clarify matters?"

"That depends." Hound did not sound openly antagonistic, but neither was he friendly. Guarded, perhaps.

Sucking in a draft of air, Prowl gestured to the seat across him his. "Please."

"There are some in here who would look poorly on me for sitting with a traitor." Hound spoke softly.

Prowl said nothing, though he put a gentle hand on Bluestreak's shoulder hearing his tiny engine rev angrily at the scout's words.

"If I had truly betrayed the Autobots, do you think the Prime would have allowed me to continue going free?" Prowl asked in equally soft tones.

Hound continued to stand rigidly for a long astrosecond before his frame relaxed perceptibly. "You do have a point there, I guess."

Hound hesitated a moment longer then looked down the chair Prowl had invited him to take. Then he slid into it. Prowl lowered himself back into his own, never taking his optics off the olive-green mech.

Once he was seated, Bluestreak leaned against him, keeping Hound in his sights, looking almost hurt. Hound had been friendly to Prowl before and it troubled him that he was now being borderline hostile.

Hound's optics darted down to the youngling, his trained optics catching the movement and almost instantly interpreting it for what it meant. The plating around his optics tightened with guilt for having troubled the youngling.

When Hound glanced back at Prowl, a silent question in his optics, Prowl nodded his permission and Hound addressed Bluestreak. "I have no ill-intentions towards your guardian, Bluestreak. But the situation is serious and I have some questions I need to ask. Even if they are uncomfortable for him or sound mean, it is much better that I ask them than let the rumors continue to go unchecked. Do you understand that?"

Bluestreak glanced up at Prowl and received silent encouragement. He nodded, but stayed close to Prowl. "Will you believe him? 'Cause I don't see the point if you aren't going to believe what he tells you."

Hound stared, then smiled. "Touché, little one. I can't promise blindly that I'll accept whatever he says, but I give you my word I _will_ listen carefully and take it seriously. Is that acceptable?"

Bluestreak looked at the scout carefully, young optics working up and down his frame. As the youngling turned to glance up at him, Prowl was distantly aware that the murmurs from around the room had fallen silent as the three of them were the focus of everyone's attention. At length Bluestreak nodded, curling back against Prowl's chassis.

Hound smiled weakly and looked up at Prowl, who met his gaze cautiously. After a sparkbeat he older Praxian gave him a silent nod; permission to continue.

With a sigh of air through his vents, Hound leaned forward, resting a hand on the table tapping its surface lightly with each point as if tallying them. "I know that strategy was not the type of thing Smokescreen has ever given us. I've worked with your strategy, in a much more simple situation granted, so I know how effective yours can be. I know you were able to pull out a victory nearly six to one…and in an _impromptu_ situation. Yet this scrapheap of a strategy barely manages to bring _anyone_ home alive. So. Either A) you did this on purpose, in which case you did betray us, B) What happened on our patrol was a fluke and you aren't as good as I thought, or C) Something else happened."

Prowl continued to hold the other mech's gaze for a long time until Hound gestured toward him with the hand that had been tapping the table. "So. How am I doing so far?"

Prowl averted his gaze, lowering it respectfully, and answered. "Your observations are accurate, Hound. I assure you, none of that debacle was done intentionally, by anyone involved."

"So… something else happened?"

"Yes." Prowl's engine choked momentarily at the memory, aware the observant scout probably did not miss the noise. "I did have a hand in the preliminary development of the strategy, but that is where my involvement ended. I do not know more than that. As to whether I intended any duplicity, I can assure you the matter was… thoroughly investigated by both Jazz and Ratchet and that had I been anything but completely innocent I would not be a free mech right now."

"They scanned you, then?" Hound asked quietly.

"Indeed." Prowl could not quite stop his wince at the memory. "What they found satisfied their concerns and gave them the confidence to keep me in the tactical department."

"I see." Hound said thoughtfully. "So… If it wasn't intentional, was it accidental negligence? Inability? Incompetence?"

Prowl refused to take offense, realizing it was a highly legitimate question for a mech who was asked to trust and implement whatever plans he might create in the future.

"I was not in the tactical command during the assault." He said quietly. "I cannot speak for what happened during the attack itself. I do know that those who are in a position to prevent such a disaster in the future know what needs to be done to do so. Mistakes were made, by multiple mechs on more than one level. I do not believe it will be allowed to happen again."

"Mistakes." Hound echoed. "Including you?" When Prowl nodded reluctantly, the scout continued. "What was _your_ mistake?"

Prowl forced himself to meet Hound's searching gaze. "I recommended a plan that was too complex for the experience level of the staff who would be directing the battle."

He intentionally did not mention the inappropriate assignment, refusing to undermine Smokescreen even if it made him look worse. These mechs – Hound and all those listening – needed to be able to trust their Lead Tactician.

"That too is a situation that has been resolved and plans are in motion to improve the training level of the tactical department." He assured softly.

"Meaning, you are probably training them." Hound interpreted, a small quirk to his lip plate.

"As I am able." Prowl conceded.

Hound considered that silently for the span of several astroseconds and Prowl did not press him further, waiting patiently. Finally the bulkier, green mech nodded. "Good enough. Thank you, Prowl."

Prowl nodded formally, even as Hound turned his attention back to Bluestreak. "There. Was that too terrible?"

Bluestreak considered that, glancing up at Prowl again, trying to read his guardian's reaction to the informal interrogation. But Prowl was only looking at him calmly, no apparent discomfort. "I think… I think it was nicer than what they did to him already. At least you didn't hurt him."

"_Hurt_ him…?" Hound turned wide optics back up to Prowl. "What happened?"

Prowl grimaced, suddenly flailing for a way to explain. "You are aware of how uncomfortable a hostile deep processor scan can be?"

"You mean they…?" Blue optics darted down to Bluestreak and Hound cut himself off abruptly. "How bad?"

Prowl released a vent, not happy to be forced into a position of revealing such personal details in such a public setting. "Enough Ratchet saw fit to help me undue what was done."

Hound's stunned silence was echoed by the others in the room. Then, finally, the scout shuddered slightly before giving his helm a tiny shake. "I'm sorry to hear that. I didn't know."

Prowl dared to relax fractionally. "Not surprising. I doubt many except those who were present do."

Prowl watched a kaleidoscope of emotions swirl across Hound's faceplate and suddenly the whole incident was thrown into proper perspective. He continued, speaking gently. "I do not ask for your sympathy Hound. What happened has happened. Had you not inquired I would have said nothing. But rest assured that Prime and the Command Team are not taking my integration into Autobot ranks lightly. They have taken, and will take, all necessary precautions to protect those whom they command. If I have been given any level of trust, it was not given without cause."

Hound continued to look at him for a long moment and then nodded. "Yeah. I get that."

It was probably as close as Prowl would get to acceptance from the Autobot scout. The tactician acknowledged that with a grateful bob of his helm. Hound smiled weakly and returned the gesture.

After another moment, Hound pushed his chair back from the table, and stood. "Thank you Prowl, for taking time to speak with me. I know in your place I wouldn't have wanted to."

Despite not truly enjoying the conversation, Prowl found himself returning Hound's smile with a barely perceptible, self-depreciating one of his own. "One truth of my situation that I accepted some time ago is that what I want seldom has any impact."

Hound frowned. "That's… um, sad."

Prowl allowed one doorwing to shrug a centimeter. "It is reality and will remain so for as long as I am a POW. It does no good to lament something I cannot change and fully understand the necessity of. I knew this the moment I decided to surrender to Ironhide in Praxus."

Hound's armor flared slightly, though not in aggression. When he spoke his voice was touched with a hint of something suspiciously close to awe. "You don't _want_ anyone feeling sorry for you, do you."

For some reason taking confidence in Hound's words – or at least the way they were spoken – Prowl straightened, lifting his chin a fraction, though not with arrogance. "No. I don't."

* * *

_**16DarkMidnight80:**__ In answer to your questions: 1) No, you don't have to pay, the site is free. 2) Yes, you do need an email address to sign up. I wasn't sure what to expect when I did it, so I set up a free email address with yahoo that I use exclusively for FFnet stuff. It works. 3) My experience has been that I have not gotten any personal information about others so I assume it is the same the other way around._


	25. Leap of Faith

_Greetings everyone, I apologize for the delayed update. Real life strikes again, that is all I can say. That is the same reason I haven't gotten to reply to virtually anyone's review. Don't doubt that I have enjoyed every one though. Trust me, these last two weeks when I have been spend __**days**__ so tired I literally got dizzy if I moved quickly, I would re-read your reviews and they would motivate me to sit down and write some more. I'm not usually that 'needy' but these have been a tough two weeks. For the same reason, please forgive me if the grammar and stuff in this chapter is a bit weaker than normal. At least it is a new chapter..._

_Anyway, though it was not intentional this chapter is extra long. Too long, perhaps. Doesn't matter though because the last scene doesn't fit with the next chapter so it had to go here. :D Lucky for you guys I guess._

_Enough said. Enjoy…_

* * *

Four orns into his new assignment, working with Smokescreen as his monitor, had Prowl starting to feel as if he were finally getting his pedes underneath himself again. Being in a routine – not to mention being back in his function – helped. Tremendously.

He and Bluestreak would wake early to share energon before the crowds would form in the rec room and then he would drop the youngling off with Chromia before heading to the tactical command. Bluestreak's demand for higher energon rations remained, though no other physical indications of a need for a frame upgrade made themselves known in that time. Prowl knew enough to know that could change at any moment and was resolved to speak to Ratchet as soon as he saw anything else.

As he entered the tactical command center this time however, it was with a hint of sad reservation. The plan he had been working on would be completed this orn and, despite what Smokescreen had said, Prowl was not sure what to expect once it was finished.

Even so, he diligently did his best to stamp down his personal concerns as he and Smokescreen set to work. They had quickly developed a system, one that worked remarkably well.

True, Smokescreen's official job was to carefully monitor Prowl's use of the data he was processing and to stay vigilant for any possible subterfuge. In reality however, he just stayed in the background and watched Prowl operate. Occasionally he would ask questions, but they were more often than not the type of questions a student would ask, not a suspicious warden. In return, Prowl made an effort to point out relevant processes and detailed how he set up each algorithm and why. Eventually, Smokescreen had relaxed enough into the activity to start suggesting input. Prowl would evaluate each suggestion and then explain why it was not appropriate or express his approval and incorporate it accordingly.

Initially Smokescreen all but glowed internally each time his input was deemed valuable even if his outward, professional demeanor never waivered. However, even that mild excitement had eventually faded into professional collaboration as they neared the end of the assignment.

After four orns, the only thing that truly served to remind Prowl that things between him and Smokescreen were still different from when they had served in the Praxian Enforcer Corps together, was the fact that their work was being done through a one-way connection rather than a tandem process.

While Wheeljack's buffered interface hub did much to blunt the pain that he would have normally felt, it could not truly block all the discomfort. The steady ache in his processor that would establish itself within a joor or so once they started, and would not fade until a joor or so after they had finished for the orn, was sufficient to remind Prowl of his true status.

Thus he knew the high probability existed that his role was finished as they completed and finalized the plan to retake the two most recently overrun Autobot outposts in the Centari-tetrax region.

It was with a heavy silence that Prowl finally disconnected from the terminal. With a resigned and somewhat weary sigh of air he reached out and touched Smokescreen's arm before his former apprentice could disconnect from the hub.

Smokescreen looked at him questioningly, but not at all suspicious or accusingly.

Prowl spoke very softly. "As I am sure you are aware, I have been storing data related to this plan in an isolated, buffered databank." Smokescreen nodded and Prowl forced himself to continue, still holding his gaze. "Do you wish for me to delete that data?"

Smokescreen's optics widened and all he could do was stare for a long handful of seconds and Prowl understood, the heat building in his frame attesting to just how humiliating asking such a question was for _any_ Cybertronian, let alone a tactician.

Then Smokescreen quickly shook his helm. "No. You may need to defend this plan. To the others, the commanders, I mean."

It was Prowl's turn to blink, staring in surprise at Smokescreen. Seeing his look, Smokescreen shrugged a doorwing, deliberately nonchalant. "I said you were taking lead on this project. That means providing the briefing and running the on-site tactical operations."

"I doubt your comrades will accept such a proposal." Prowl said quietly.

There were certain aspects of this plan that would _require_ a direct sensory uplink with the on-scene tactician, though he had made sure it was a task Smokescreen should be able to handle without him if necessary. Though, in truth he had briefly toyed with the idea of 'what if…'

"I know that look." Smokescreen leaned forward. "You have an idea to make your involvement more acceptable to them."

Prowl canted a look at his former apprentice, bemused to be so easily read. "Perhaps."

"Well?" Smokescreen demanded.

With the barest hint of a smirk that was hidden by a well-timed, deferential nod, Prowl told him.

Less than half a breem into his explanation and Smokescreen had to suppress a smirk as well.

… … …

The briefing room was full and boasted only limited seating. As expected, the Prime was present as was Ironhide, Jazz, Ultra Magnus, Ratchet, Blaster and Red Alert. Also present were the senior field commanders; Hardstrike, Crankshaft, and Steelbrow. Silverbolt, the Arialbot Commander and his second, Air Raid, were also there. In fact, Air Raid was standing behind and to one side of his commander in order to leave one remaining chair for Smokescreen. Nearly half of these Autobots, Prowl had never met personally and the looks on their faceplates spoke clearly that they were not happy to be doing so now.

Familiar with how situations like this played out, Prowl silently took up a similar place behind and to the side of Smokescreen's chair. The white and gray Praxian hesitated ever so slightly before sliding into it, clearly uncomfortable. Prowl thought he understood; before the war, they had attended numerous precinct briefings and it had always been Smokescreen who had stood behind Prowl.

Prowl was acutely aware he was being watched by every optic in the room and suspiciously so by most of them. However, the tactician gave no indication he was aware of, let alone irritated or discomfited by the attention.

The Prime shifted his focus to the Autobot tactician, though he glanced curiously at Prowl who continued to stand silently behind his division commander. "Smokescreen, what do you have for us?"

Smokescreen cleared his vents in a nervous manner that Prowl remembered well. "We believe it is actually possible to retake _two_ out of the three outposts the Decepticons have overrun in the Centari-tetrax region. Specifically, Outposts 227Delta and 343Delta." He activated the display, highlighting the territory in question with the given outposts indicated clearly.

Hardstrike leaned in. "That would create a buffer and would allow further expansion in the area… if we can hold them, that is."

Smokescreen nodded. "Our thoughts exactly." He then went on to detail the strategy Prowl had developed.

The discussion continued and, as it did so, the tension in the room diminished by degrees as every mech seemed to forget about Prowl's presence as they were gradually convinced that the plan was not only possible, but actually feasible as well. Even better, it was a true _offensive_, not just an aggressive defense.

Finally, nearly a joor after it began, the briefing was winding down. The looks of excited expectation and grim determination something Prowl was satisfied to see.

A moment of silence elapsed once Smokescreen was finished laying everything out. Then Ultra Magnus looked at the young tactician with a pleased glint in his optics. "This is impressive, Smokescreen. But it will require a tactician in the theatre of combat to help manage the flow of battle. Do you have someone who can actually do that effectively?"

There was generalized agreement and echoing concern from the other commanders.

Smokescreen cleared his vents again, doorwings shifting in suddenly renewed nervousness. "Um, yes. The same mech who developed the plan actually. In addition there will be a skeleton back-up staff of no more than two mechs."

Ultra Magnus blinked. "This is not your plan? Your offensive team didn't develop this?"

Optimus Prime, Ironhide, Ratchet and Jazz were already looking at Prowl as Smokescreen released a snort of air through his vents dismissively with an accompanying, almost derisive, shake of his helm. "Pit no. The committee approach is what results in disasters like the debacle that happened just under a decaorn ago. No. This is his.

Smokescreen gestured back at Prowl and absolute silence fell upon the conference room as everyone took that in, processing what it meant. Then there was an explosion of protests and objections. Only the four senior commanders who had suspected the plan's origins did not participate in the outburst.

Even as the fervor of the outcry became heated, Prowl's only response was a brief flick of his doorwings and a slight increase of his internal temperature. He was not surprised by their reactions and, while the continued lack of trust was frustrating, he understood it and the reasons behind their distrust. Especially now. In fact, it was exactly the reaction he had anticipated. For that reason he could not bring himself to be overly upset by any of it.

Smokescreen, however, was not handling it quite so well. His frame started trembling in agitation, his vents heaving as his armor flared angrily as the protests continued.

The outburst started to settle down, punctuated by a comment from Air Raid. "You know what he is, Smokescreen. We've already made the mistake of following _his_ advice."

Knowing Smokescreen well enough to know the younger mech was, at that moment, too emotional to respond effectively, Prowl rested two fingers on his arm, forestalling his heated reply. Prowl turned his frustratingly serene gaze onto the arialbot in question, though he knew he was addressing the concerns of _all_ the mechs in the room.

"Smokescreen himself monitored the development of this strategy and was meticulous in reviewing each step."

The fact that that review had been that of a learning exercise more than a security screen did not need to be widely advertised.

Even so, an uneasy silence returned as they took that in and processed what it meant. More than one of the commanders present looked at Prowl with surprise at how nonchalant he appeared. Thankfully, that bought Smokescreen the time he needed to calm down sufficiently and Prowl felt safe removing his restraining hand.

After another handful of seconds, Red Alert shook his helm. "_This_ is too risky. There are too many ways this could go wrong. Not to mention it requires an on the ground tactician…"

"That is what an _offensively_ trained tactician does, Red." Smokescreen interrupted, glaring at the bright red security director. "We finally have one and we should use him."

"No one is going to accept orders from him." Ironhide spoke slowly though, surprisingly, not accusingly. Rather it was said almost as if it were just another logistical problem that needed to be resolved. "Not now at least."

Smokescreen nodded. "That is why I will be on the ground as well. I'll be the one actually issuing the orders."

Crankshaft frowned. "There is no way to do such a thing in a responsive enough manner to actually affect the battle."

Smokescreen allowed a tiny smile to tip his lip plate, taking confidence in Prowl's continued silence, knowing it meant his mentor was sure in his ability to handle the situation. "Yes there is, if I am in his head."

Crankshaft's optics widened as they darted up to Prowl. "A direct interface?"

"Through a hub, but yes." Smokescreen nodded once, sharply.

Ratchet was frowning now, pinning his sharp cobalt gaze on the older Praxian. "For the _entire_ battle?"

"If that is what is necessary." Smokescreen affirmed.

The fiery CMO's optics snapped back to Smokescreen, accusation clear as they bored twin holes through the mech's CPU. "That is totally…"

"His idea!" Smokescreen quickly defended, frame shivering under the medic's threatening glare.

At Prowl's confirming nod, the medic stumbled to a stop as every mech in the room devolved into more stunned staring. Taking the opportunity, Smokescreen spoke into the silence, penning each officer with an almost withering look of his own. "Before you knew of its origin, all of you were praising this plan as innovative, aggressive and so on. Either it is still those things or it never was. We can go back to rework it, if you wish, scale it back if you refuse to work with something this bold. Just know that _any_ offensive tactics will be done by Prowl because that is what he does. Likewise, the primary tactician on the ground will also be him… at least until he can train someone else."

"Wait just a…" Hardstrike began but Smokescreen cut him off with a sharp wave of his hand.

"No. What happened last time was _because_ I did not let Prowl do the work he was programmed and trained to do. I double-guessed him just like you are doing now. We decided to keep him in Tactical because of the tangible asset he represents and because we know it was _not_ his fault." Smokescreen's optics sharpened. "But he is only an asset if those skills are properly utilized."

If Prowl did not like, or was uneasy, about being discussed as if he were not there in the room, he gave nothing away. Even as every mech's optics slowly flicked from Smokescreen to him until he was again the focus of everyone's regard.

Instead, Prowl found his own gaze drawn to the Prime's and he found himself meeting those fathomless oceans of calm. He was able to draw a measure of peace and strength as the Prime spoke the first words directed toward him in this briefing.

"You realize there will be no escaping responsibility if this plan proves to be untenable."

Prowl nodded, amazed that his awareness of the other, borderline hostile, presences in the room faded as he focused on the Prime. "I will not attempt to escape responsibility."

"You are that confident in this?"

Prowl dipped his helm again. "In the soundness of the strategy? Yes."

Optimus quickly reviewed the data once more and, realizing he was not finished, no one spoke. Finally his optics refocused on Prowl. "The timeframe on this plan does not allow for training of the troops. This is different than anything most of them have done before."

"For a mission such as this, that should not be a problem." Prowl countered calmly.

" 'A mission such as this?' " Ultra Magnus interrupted, sounding put out.

Smokescreen spoke before Prowl could. "This is a simple, straight-forward offensive. But only on two fronts and against relatively minor defenses. Do you remember the Octerix Offensive early in the war?"

Ultra Magnus' engine growled and the angry noise was echoed by numerous other engines. "You mean the mass, unified assault on our forces by the Decepticons the second vorn into the war? The one that _decimated_ our forces? Of course. You came onboard shortly after that, because we realized we needed an actual tactician since Megatron had managed to snag himself one who could mastermind such a thing."

Hot blue optics glowered at Prowl from more than one mech at the reminder of the devastation Prowl had been able to deliver to their forces.

Smokescreen nodded. "Right, because you needed help dealing with _him._" He gestured back at Prowl. "That was not just his strategy. Don't forget, he was _also_ the field tactician for _all_ but two of the eight battles."

Once again, Prowl was the center of attention for twelve sets of optics.

Hardstrike recovered first, speaking slowly, almost dangerously. "And which of those _weren't_ you the field tactician for?"

Without obvious hesitation Prowl answered. "The battle at the Tyger Pax borderlands and the one at your northern outpost here in the Iacon territories."

"The only two we won." Steelbrow breathed and Prowl nodded. "But you could not be in all those places at once."

Prowl confirmed that simple fact of physics. "Sensory uplinks with the on-scene commanders allowed me to process the data real time. The commanders at Pax and Iacon refused to allow the uplink and I was unable to assist them."

In the now tense silence, Prowl began to doubt Smokescreen's wisdom in bringing up the Octerix Offensive. However, he had no time to contemplate the matter before Smokescreen continued, though his voice was subdued as if he too was belatedly thinking along the same lines.

"It would be more efficient if said uplink was directly with Prowl, but…"

Ironhide cut him off, his intense gaze boring into Prowl, though the tactician had the impression he was speaking more for the sake of the other field commanders than himself. "_That_ is how you managed to help Hound and his team defeat, what twenty-something 'Cons when you didn't have your doorwings."

Prowl nodded slowly, cautiously. "Yes. And I deleted their access codes as soon as hostilities ceased." He gestured with two fingers to Ratchet. "A fact that is easily confirmed."

Ratchet nodded, never taking his own stunned optics off the Praxian. "He is correct."

Prowl continued. "That is one option. So is Smokescreen's suggestion, which is for the sensory up-link to be with either him or the tactical computer."

"What type of time delay are we talking about with either of those?" Ironhide asked, his engine giving a gentle rev.

"Approximately one hundred and eighty seconds, roughly one fifth a breem, for the interface to be with the terminal." Prowl supplied immediately. "Slightly less if it is with Smokescreen."

"That is a significant delay." Crankshaft pointed out, frowning and Prowl simply nodded.

He had delivered the options, now it was their decision as to whether they would trust him. He added softly. "It is significant enough that if you do not wish to allow me direct access to the uplink, we will need to re-conceptualize the strategy into something significantly less aggressive as I highly doubt it would be achievable otherwise."

The response was not what Prowl anticipated.

Ironhide growled, his engine revving loudly. "Well, _I'm_ tired of not being able to take the battle to the 'Cons." He slammed a hand down on the table and looked at the field commanders. "I'm willing to do this." Then he looked hard at Prowl. "I'll even give you access to my sensory uplink. But I want them _gone_ as soon as it is over and Ratchet _will_ be checking that they are. If they _aren't_…"

"Ironhide…" Optimus rumbled warningly.

Prowl merely ducked his helm, still outwardly unperturbed. "If I fail to delete them, I shall expect disciplinary measures commiserate with disobeying a direct order."

Prowl held Ironhide's stormy gaze as that simple statement sank into the larger mech's understanding. Around them, the others shifted. Optimus's gaze bordered on amazement that, after what had been done to him so recently, Prowl would put that much faith in receiving fair treatment.

The other field commanders were glancing at each other, gauging, judging, communicating without words as they came to a mutual consensus on the matter.

Finally, Hardstrike looked back at Prowl, his tone a quiet challenge. "Failing to obey a direct order in times of war is punishable by death." At Prowl's nod he released a gust of air through his vents. "Well, with that type of motivation, I too am willing to give you my uplink codes."

Following his lead, the other two nodded as well, though with considerably more hesitation.

Optimus looked at his commanders and then back at Prowl. "Will that be sufficient?"

Smokescreen looked up at Prowl and they considered one another for a brief moment. It was more than they had hoped for.

Prowl was the one who answered. "Yes, sir. Two from each theatre is sufficient. One more from each would be ideal, but is not necessary at this juncture."

"You can handle all that?" Blaster asked, awe mixing with incredulity in his voice.

Prowl looked at the smaller communications expert, surprised he had addressed him directly; it was a first. "Yes. One of the most important roles of a field tactician is the rapid analysis of a great amount of simultaneously incoming data. I have an entire auxiliary processor-setup reserved for that task alone. It is a necessary upgrade for all senior tacticians and… "

Prowl trailed off, glancing down at Smokescreen who had put a hand on his arm. It was a silent request for him to stop explaining. An order. Not understanding the reason, but relinquishing to the younger mech's authority, Prowl gave him a short nod and remained silent.

No mech could have missed that silent byplay, even if they had missed it earlier in the briefing session when it had been reversed.

Smokescreen looked at Blaster and then swept the room again, landing finally on Optimus. "Prime, not only can Prowl 'handle' this, he has done so in the past and he _will_ handle it now. Give him the chance and he'll show you."

This time the hush that claimed the briefing room was not one of shock or muted hostility, but that of tense expectation as every mech waited for the Prime's decision.

The Prime's expression was indefinable, it was almost as if too many weighty thoughts vied for his attention. Even so, he never lost that unfathomable calm. It was matched by an echoing calm that likewise radiated off the former Enforcer, though the later was also tinged with resignation. It was clear to everyone present that Prowl would accept whatever the Prime's decision would be, taking it in stride regardless of whether it favored him or not.

At length, Optimus spoke. "You have yet to betray the trust we have given you, Prowl. Smokescreen is correct; it is useless to keep you in the tactical department if we are not willing to take advantage of the skills and abilities you bring with you. You have presented an opportunity to us that we will seek to take advantage of."

That rich cobalt gaze slid over to his senior field commanders. "Prepare your troops, mechs. We leave in less than one orn."

Hardstrike, Crankshaft, Steelbrow and the two arialbots stood and took their leave. Once they were gone, Optimus shifted his attention back to Prowl, who straightened under the intensity of it though, much to his surprise, he felt no desire to even _want_ to hide from that attention regardless of what it might bring.

Once more his focus narrowed and he was able to mostly ignore the other witnesses in the room.

Optimus spoke again, his voice solemn. "As an on-scene tactician, you will be in a position to do us much harm."

It was an understatement and Prowl knew that. And he knew they had probably never allowed any other defector that much authority. He nodded with equal sobriety. "That is true." He acknowledged quietly.

"We would be foolish not to take steps to ensure that cannot happen." It was spoken softly, as if the words pained the Prime.

Prowl frowned minutely, not at the words but with concern as to how they had been spoken. "I would not expect you to do anything less." He paused, continuing to meet the Prime's gaze. Yes, he was intimately aware of the risk they were taking.

With a release of air, Prowl lowered his gaze and forced his frame to relax into a more submissive posture. "I will not contest or resist any measures you chose to take to prevent such a thing from happening, Prime."

"You don't even know what those measures will be." Optimus pointed out, still speaking softly.

"Regardless." Prowl returned, then he looked at the Prime even more closely and realized the other mech was actually at a loss as to how to best safeguard against such a possible threat in this situation. It was a reminder that the Prime was not necessarily intended to be a military leader.

His optics narrowed as he spoke, addressing Optimus' concern. "It was very rare, though not unheard of, even in relatively peaceful precincts, for a field tactician to, I believe the common idiom was, 'berserk.' The reasons were seldom understood and usually attributed to a critical systems failure, nor were the episodes ever expected. In critical situations. . . eventually it became standard for all precincts to keep in reserve the ability to physically eliminate such a possible threat should it be necessary, though only the most senior tacticians ever knew of this fact."

"They did?" Smokescreen's horrified, whispered question garnered only a faint nod from the older Praxian.

Seeing the Prime's widening optics Prowl dipped his helm. "Such a precaution is never wrong to take, and would not be a precedent. Nor would it be something you should hesitate to consider."

After a long moment Optimus bowed his own helm in acknowledgement of the former Decepticon's recommendation. "Know that, due to the dramatic leap of trust this is requiring, another processor scan may be called for once it is over."

Prowl hid a wince at the recent memory that warning brought instantly to mind, refusing to look at Jazz as he nodded, though with noticeably more stiffness. "I agreed to the terms of my parole, I will abide by that agreement, Prime."

The two mechs continued to regard each other silently. Then the Prime nodded again; a dismissal. "Then we understand one another. We will speak again following the upcoming battle."

With that Prowl and Smokescreen stood and, with a bow to the Prime, walked out of the briefing room.

… … …

The makeshift field tactical station was set up in a well-secluded and hidden, virtually dilapidated, shack: the best fit for their needs according to intelligence reports. Not the best conditions Prowl had ever worked in… almost the worst, actually... but it would do. Prowl would _make_ it do because there were too many lives depending on it.

Walking in beside him, Smokescreen grimaced. "Well… its cozy at least."

Prowl released a snort of air and, shooting his department leader an almost jaded look, he moved further into the humble excuse of a mobile command center.

"Look at it this way," Smokescreen continued in an effort to be positive. "Once we prove this works, I think the Prime will be willing to invest in a more appropriate set up."

"So… Smokey…" Trailbreaker asked hesitantly as he walked in last, carrying the portable computer terminal. "You sure this is place secure enough?"

"This location's security is in its secrecy." Prowl responded automatically, still investigating the perimeter of the small room.

"Hmn. Yeah, well, I wasn't talking to you." Trailbreaker huffed, though it was clear to Prowl that the sharpness in the other mech's words was born more of nervousness than antipathy.

Of course, none of the mechs in Smokescreen's command had any experience with field operations. Keeping that in mind, Prowl did not allow himself to take offense. "My apologies."

"He's right though." Smokescreen said with a grin tossed to the other Autobot. "If the enemy knows where we are, it would take the entire army to keep us safe so… anonymity is our only real defense."

"That is not exactly comforting." Trailbreaker huffed again, though he proceeded to set up the equipment.

Deeming his survey complete, Prowl moved to help but hesitated when the mech shot him a warning glance.

"Can I assist?" Prowl asked gently.

Trailbreaker blinked and then gave a tiny shrug and handed him a cable. "Find a power-conduit access for this thing."

Prowl frowned. "Does the system not have a self-contained power supply?"

"Of course it does, but why waste the juice when…" He trailed off, looking suddenly aghast. "Right. The diversion in power might give our location away. Never mind."

The cord was snatched out of Prowl's hand and the mech went back to work, not acknowledging his presence again.

Prowl frowned, but a private ping on his communication's system from Smokescreen drew his attention. He accessed it, still looking at Trailbreaker.

_/He's a little overwhelmed right now. Don't be too harsh with him./_

Prowl released a vent of air, but after checking that the mech _was_ making acceptable progress with his task of setting up the equipment, stepped back, out of the way. _/It is not my place to be harsh with him, even __**if**__ I believed he deserved it./_ He replied without inflection.

Smokescreen winced. _/That's not what I meant. He's never done anything like this before./_

_/That is clear./_ He looked at his former apprentice even as Trailbreaker finally powered up the terminal. "Are we ready to begin?"

"Yes." Smokescreen gestured him over to the main interface, handing him the data hub.

Without comment, Prowl took the hub and connected it to his port then nodded to Smokescreen. With smooth motions that spoke of both tacticians' professionalism and experience, Prowl began initiating the uplinks with the field commanders as Smokescreen connected to the hub and then synched it with the terminal.

Prowl began an automatic network check to make sure each connection was strong and stable when restless movement at the peripheral of his vision caught his attention. He paused momentarily in his preparations to look at Trailbreaker, aware that Smokescreen continued to play his fingers over the terminal's controls. Now that his primary task was completed, Trailbreaker looked rather lost and out of his element.

"Trailbreaker." His softly spoken word caught the mech's attention. "If you wish, another processor to review the data is always helpful."

Trailbreaker looked down at the hub Prowl was pointing to, something like horror written on his face. Prowl released a vent of air. "It is a one way connection, there is no danger for you. However, if that makes you uncomfortable, connecting with the terminal will also grant you access to the data."

Trailbreaker hesitated for a moment. Connecting with the terminal would give him a slightly outdated view of the data and they both knew it, as the sensory feeds were coming directly to Prowl. However, it was apparently better than sitting around with nothing to do because he nodded hastily and stepped forward, connecting to the computer.

_/That was kind of you to offer./_ Smokescreen noted as Prowl refocused on the task at hand.

_/Feeling useless is not a pleasant existence, even if only for a short period./_ Prowl said and then accessed all the data streams simultaneously, his processors instantly whirring up to full combat speed. "The first wave will begin in less than one breem."

"Acknowledged." Smokescreen said out loud, though he frowned at the cryptic nature of Prowl's commed statement.

With a final, guarded look at Smokescreen, Prowl willingly lost himself in the ebb and flow of the bourgeoning conflict, taking the data as it came in, classifying it, processing and analyzing it and then prioritizing any changes that might be needed. All of this was done with swift efficiency that would have stunned any mech who had not already witnessed it. He felt Smokescreen almost seamlessly slip into place. It was a somewhat deeper mental contact than when the younger mech had been simply monitoring his work, in that it had to be deep enough to allow the younger tactician to immediately know when an order needed to be issued.

That fact alone increased the pressure within Prowl's processor, but Wheeljack's modified data hub helped blunt what it would have otherwise been.

The initial assault began with virtually no fanfare and, much as expected, caught the Decepticons completely by surprise. Outside, the Autobots' plasma fire lit up the night, but the three of them were sheltered by the thick metal walls surrounding them. Relatively close, explosions rocked the ground, but, tucked away in their little hideaway, the physical evidence of the battles were but a minor distraction.

On the edge of Ironhide's sensory field at the eastern-most target, Prowl noticed a flight of seekers struggling to pull themselves together enough to take off. Instantly, Smokescreen directed Air Raid – the one in command of the Autobot seekers flying cover for that detachment – to take as many out as they could before they could take to the air.

Simultaneously, Steelbrow's sensors detected a handful of Decepticons at the second installation who were attempting to repair one of the perimeter defenses the Autobots had taken out in the opening strikes. That would give them enough of an advantage to decimate the Autobot troops. But Prowl's warning, passed on by Smokescreen, gave the large cobalt and green mech enough time to redirect some of his forces to take them out.

Something about the way two mech's moved on Hardstrike's scanners hinted at a possible gestalt. Prowl singled them out and Smokescreen's directions had multiple plasma strikes homing in on those targets only astroseconds later. Twelve Decepticon soldiers fell the moment one of them was taken out.

The battle continued in this manner, with Prowl identifying priority targets and enemy threats. As expected, there was little resistence to Smokescreen's orders. Such would not have been the case for Prowl and the older tactician knew that. Yet the part of his processor that was just glad to be able to finally help, the part that was so wrapped up in his job that it did not have time for hurt feelings, ensured that he was not offended by that reality.

Suddenly Prowl realized that three of the Autobot front liner's were in trouble deep within the western target base, two were seriously wounded and the third was desperately trying to fight a loosing battle with the Decepticons who had managed to cut of their retreat back to the Autobot lines. Instantly Smokescreen redirected sufficient forces to come to their aid.

Explosions reverberated through the ground beneath them again as the battle raged on. It took two and a half joors before the surviving Decepticons chose to retreat, leaving the mutilated bases back in the hands of the Autobots.

The were just starting mop-up procedures when Trailbreaker spoke up suddenly, though a little unsure. "I think… I think Outpost 227Delta is trying to send a drone."

"Slag." Smokescreen breathed.

Prowl did not waste time on expletives, but rapidly reviewed the data. Drone curriers were not uncommon in that the lack of spark signatures helped them avoid detection and thus helped ensure the survival of their message. They were slower, perhaps, then subspace transmissions, but one of the first things the Autobots had done was destroy their communications array.

Taking the dataset Trailbreaker forwarded him, Prowl had it analyzed and Smokescreen had the orders issued within ten seconds. Using the same algorithm, Prowl managed to detect evidence that at least two additional drones had also been sent, one from the same outpost and another from the second. All three were successfully hunted down and destroyed, and their memory cache retrieved for possible intelligence.

"I doubt Outpost 343Delta only sent one drone." Smokescreen intoned quietly.

"Doubtless." Prowl agreed. "If they sent another one, it probably got through."

"Not much we can do about it now." Smokescreen shrugged with his doorwings as he confirmed the final active combat stand-down orders, allowing the on-scene commanders to begin securing the outposts they had just retaken. At least what was left of the outposts.

Once done, Smokescreen disconnected from the hub and the terminal, allowing Prowl to do the same. He smiled at his former mentor and Prowl merely released a sigh of air through his vents. Then, rubbing a hand over his faceplates, Prowl straightened, nodding to the younger tactician, _Well done,_ the gesture told Smokescreen.

"That was _awesome_!" Trailbreaker enthused, seemingly oblivious to the silent byplay, though the look he cast Prowl were still somewhat uncertain. "An operation like that with only five fatalities and only a dozen critical injuries? I didn't even know that could be done."

Prowl let his lip plate quirk slightly, though he allowed Smokescreen to answer his subordinate, not wanting to risk making him uncomfortable again.

"It _is_ possible. At least _sometimes_. And Prowl happens to be one of the best at it."

Trailbreaker sobered. "That's why we were getting our afts handed to us before, wasn't it?"

Smokescreen snorted. "Unfortunately. But now he's on our side and, as…"

Prowl tuned out the rest of Smokescreen's answer as he took the time to make sure the four sensory uplink codes he had been given were deleted, including his memory of the codes, making sure he had no way to initialize them again on his own. He blinked as something tickled the fringes of his doorwings' upgraded sensors, but it was gone just as quickly and he brushed the sensation aside as attributable to the ache in his processor caused by what they had just done. Speaking of…

Prowl looked at Smokescreen again, formally dipping his helm. "I believe that process worked admirably."

"Not as well as a true tandem process would." Smokescreen countered with a small grimace, looking at him again, carefully evaluating. "Are you alright?"

Prowl nodded. "Sore, but no more than would be expected."

Smokescreen nodded. "Yeah. Um, sorry about that. If I…"

Prowl gently cut his former apprentice off with a gentle finger to his gray shoulder as he stood to help Trailbreaker dismantle the portable computer terminal. "You know as well as I that, for security and safety reasons, a true tandem process is prohibited with either Decepticons or any former Decepticon defector still on probationary status."

"I know." Smokescreen's frustration bled through those words like energon through a sliced main line. "But _most_ 'Con defectors aren't head cases like you, having to do so many processes that _should_ be tandem. Most are just grunts who are sent right back out to the front lines, usually in rather remote locations were they can't really hurt anything because the only reason they defected in the first place was out of self preservation…"

Smokescreen cut himself off with a shake of his helm, then he forced a smile as he looked at Prowl again. "Still… you did good. And yes, since this is the only _legal_ process we have at our disposal for now, I too think it worked rather well."

Together, the three tacticians made their way back to the carefully concealed ship that had carried them out to their makeshift base of operations.

… … …

Because their tiny ship carried no wounded soldiers returning from the battle, they were placed in a holding pattern above Iacon until all the troop transports were docked and unloaded. None of the three tacticians complained, each of them more than willing to let the wounded have priority. Trailbreaker actually took advantage of the time to quiz Smokescreen about what he and Prowl had just done. The rapid verbal torrent incongruously reminded Prowl of Bluestreak and it suddenly hit him how much he actually _wanted_ to be back in Iacon.

Despite everything that had happened to him since he had arrived, the Autobot base held two of the only things that truly mattered to Prowl: the little youngling who somehow trusted him implicitly and his only hope of defeating Megatron so that young mechlings like Bluestreak had a future. Iacon might not be 'home' per se – in that it was difficult to equate the positive aspects usually associated with that word to the base in which he was still a prisoner of war – but it was the closest thing he had left to what that word represented.

Prowl was still pondering that line of thought as the Smokescreen took the ship down for its final descent into the hanger.

They disembarked, Trailbreaker eagerly taking the lead, clearly wanting to join the celebration that he claimed would soon begin. Prowl and Smokescreen followed him, speaking quietly to each other, comparing notes and deciding on possible ways to streamline their next engagement, as well as other possible operations Smokescreen had in mind. It was pleasantly enough like their interactions before the war that Prowl found himself relaxing.

Only to stiffen as five mechs moved to intercept them as they crossed the large hanger. Ironhide, Hardstrike, Crankshaft and Steelbrow with Ratchet in the middle of their group. They moved with purpose, five sets of optics focused unwaveringly on Prowl.

Smokescreen's engine revved with frustration, knowing, just like his mentor what their intention was.

Prowl tore his gaze away from his 'welcome committee' as the heavily built warriors came to stop some distance away and looked at his former apprentice. He spoke softly enough only Smokescreen heard. "This was part of our agreement with them. We knew this. _I _knew this."

Smokescreen hesitated for a moment longer, his armor flaring as his processor battled briefly with an instinctive desire to defend his former commander. Then he nodded resignedly and continued for the hanger door with an equally quiet and almost apologetically whispered, "I know."

Prowl watched him go for a couple of sparkbeats and then turned resolutely toward the five mechs waiting for him.

The four warriors shared a determined confidence that was almost intimidating, though it was also tinged with hints of the same excitement that had radiated off Trailbreaker. Even so, Prowl did not doubt that determination would turn swiftly to retaliation if provoked. Ratchet was almost unreadable and that alone was not a very comforting thing.

As he closed the distance between them, Prowl considered several ways to begin what was promising to be a rather awkward, if not downright uncomfortable discussion, at least for him.

As it turned out, he was saved from having to make a decision as Ironhide did it for him. "I have to admit. I wasn't sure you could pull that off. I see now why Smokescreen wanted you, even after that safe-house fiasco."

Prowl fell back on well-ingrained, professional politeness. "Thank you for being willing to give me the chance." He looked at Ratchet. "I know your time is limited, medic so I shall not waste it. Will you be checking only for the uplink codes or are you performing a full scan?"

Ratchet's engine made a tiny coughing noise before revving in warning. "Does it matter?"

Prowl nearly flinched away at the almost nervous sharpness in the question. Why would _Ratchet_ be nervous? Then he remembered the usually temperamental mech's hesitant approach after Jazz had fragmented his processor. That in itself told him what this was to be. While he was curious as to why it was not Jazz, he could not deny he was not at least a little relieved.

He ducked his helm, averting his gaze submissively. "No, it does not matter as I agreed to submit to both. I was merely wanting to know what to expect. I did not mean to challenge you."

With that, Prowl slid the cover to his data port aside and waited, very much aware of the mutedly startled reactions Hardstrike, Steelbrow and Crankshaft shared, even if Ironhide did not. Still appearing somewhat hesitant, Ratchet stepped forward and, pulling his cable out, slid it home.

Prowl stiffened subtly at the sudden invasion, having grown used to having the sensation buffered through Wheeljack's hub. Then he regained control and, still not sure exactly what the medic was after, he took in a tense vent of air and lowered his firewalls.

Ratchet's optics widened at the clear open invitation that mirrored almost exactly what he had done back in his cell the orn he had been offered the opportunity to defect. It struck home with enough force to weaken the tension cables in the medic's legs. Prowl had agreed to that scan decaorns ago and had then agreed to submit to any other scans the Autobots had deemed necessary.

Like this one.

Whereas the first time Prowl had been cuffed and magnetically locked to an interrogation stool, this time he was _standing _under his own power. Ratchet had seen his fighting ability and _knew_ there was no way he could force this interface. The only reason it was taking place was because Prowl was _allowing_ it.

And that was exactly what Prowl had done in dropping his firewalls as he had. It was not the same as it had been in the immediate aftermath of having his processor fragmented. Prowl had been in no position to resist at that time, now it was totally and completely voluntary. Even if it was only his ethical programs that bound him to do it, he had willingly made the offer, and thus affirmed his commitment.

Still in somewhat of a daze in the wake of that epiphany, Ratchet transmitted a request to see the files associated with the mission as well as evidence that the uplink codes had been deleted.

Prowl's acquiescence was instant and the pathways lit up.

To the Praxian's great surprise, the medic's mental touch was gentle, almost soothing as he proceeded in that way unique to medics. He was quick and efficient, but not cruel, and amazingly he stayed to the illuminated pathways. Within moments, the scan was complete and Ratchet was disconnecting.

Ratchet stowed his cord, looking over at Ironhide. "They're gone; deleted before he even boarded the ship to return to Iacon."

At that announcement, Hardstrike allowed himself to grin at the tactician who was doing his best to conceal an uncomfortable grimace that was threatening to mar his faceplates. "You did it. You did everything you said you would. If you keep doing it, we might finally be able to turn this blasted war around."

Prowl gave him a solemn nod. "I hope that is the case."

"You aren't what I expected, that's for sure." Crankshaft murmured. "And I'm glad for that."

"Me too." Steelbrow intoned.

Prowl acknowledged their comments with a polite bob of his helm and then watched as they walked away, moving to exit the hanger.

Prowl had just remembered that the hanger was one of those locations that he was still prohibited from being in without an escort – and the fact that he was being left alone in said area – when a familiar spark signature registered on the edge of his range.

No, it was not on the edge of his range. Rather it was well within it but was somehow masked. Dampened.

Recognition mixed with incredulity as he turned toward the signal. "Jazz?"

The silver minibot came sauntering around the hull of a large troop transport, nimbly dodging the drones that were working on cleaning and maintenancing the craft. "Heya Prowler."

Drained as he was quickly becoming, Prowl could not keep himself from frowning minutely at the name. Then the memory of that hint of _something_ at the edge of his scanning range, that resonance he had brushed aside while out in the field came back to him and he straightened, his optics narrowing. "It's _Prowl._ Why were you at the field tactical command post?"

The saboteur froze, even his vents stalling, momentarily in mid intake with clear hesitation about divulging that information. That alone gave Prowl enough to make an educated guess. But then the other mech gave an almost visible mental shake, though he never broke optic contact. "Um… Ta keep an optic on ya. Was supposed ta kill ya quick if ya turned against us in there."

Prowl jerked back a fraction at the blunt and speedy delivery. However, well ingrained caution, and his innate tendency toward careful calculation, had him cautiously considering Jazz. The silver mech stood his ground with an almost defiant air, yet it felt more like a pretense. Something about the small saboteur actually screamed 'concern.'

After the shock of his initial reaction wore off, Prowl realized he was not even that surprised Jazz had been tasked with such a duty. As the head of Special Operations, such a task would normally fall within his purview. Prowl knew that no one could do as much harm as an on-site tactician who either went rogue or broke down mentally. Pit, he had all but suggested such a stratagem. What surprised him was that Jazz admitted to his role so freely.

In a way, Prowl found he appreciated that blunt honesty. Far more than he would have thought possible.

Jazz had violated his mind in one of the most painful ways possible not even a full decaorn ago and that had made it difficult to believe his promise not to do so again. And, while Prowl knew that complete honesty in this case did not _guarantee_ that promise would be kept, it did, at the very least, lend credence to the possibility. Especially when he knew Jazz had taken a chance by admitting such a thing: most mechs, after all, do not respond very favorably when they are told the mech in front of them was prepared to kill them less than a joor previously.

Debating the possible options for his own response, Prowl found himself nodding to the saboteur, his wings lifting fractionally in a minute shrug. "I see. Thank you for telling me the truth, Jazz."

The two continued to stare at each other; Jazz apparently in just as much shock at Prowl's nonplussed answer as the tactician had been with the saboteur's frank honesty.

Reasoning that their rather awkward interaction was over as Jazz just continued to stare at him, Prowl nodded formally and started to turn away, but a silver hand reached out to snag his arm.

"Energon?" Jazz asked softly, hesitantly hopeful as he searched Prowl's face. It was the first time Jazz had touched him since he had fragmented his processor and the contact seemed just as awkward for the saboteur as it did for the tactician

Prowl froze, having to replay the question through his processor as it was not at all something he expected to hear, his systems hitching so quickly it threatened to momentarily disrupt his balance systems. What an unusual thing to ask, especially after the candid nature of their previous exchange.

Jazz must have seen his incredulity, for he released his arm and stepped back , clearing his vents. "Ya don' have ta. I promised ya as much… but I know ya need it after all a that." He waved his hand toward the exit Ratchet and the others had left through.

Prowl remembered no such promise, though it had been strongly implied that Prowl would not be _required_ to share energon with Jazz if he did not want to. However, Jazz was right, his systems were stressed, his energy levels lower than they should be allowed to remain for any length of time. Not to mention that the rec room was bound to be crowded, if what Trailbreaker had said was accurate, and Prowl remembered how being with Jazz had kept most of the unwanted and uncomfortable attention of the rank and file Autobots at bay on a handful of previous occasions.

Right now, that benefit would make up for the awkwardness of being casual with the mech who had fragmented his mind less than a decaorn previously.

Finally, Prowl nodded his acquiescence and Jazz's sudden grin caught him completely off guard, making his balance systems protest again.

They walked together to the rec room and, as Trailbreaker had predicted, they could hear the sound of the young celebration several dozen meters before they reached the door. Prowl hesitated, his intense dislike of crowds – and the negative attention he generally attracted – making him seriously consider retreating to the safety of his quarters. However, a brief but gentle nudge to his arm from Jazz kept him moving. He braced himself for any number of possible reactions, from smug gloating about their victory over the Decepticons to snide, cutting comments as he followed the smaller mech into the room teeming with Autobots.

He was not fully prepared for the reaction he actually received. He was all but ignored.

Outwardly, at least. He could not miss how mechs would tense at his presence and then relax when they saw he was being escorted by Jazz. Actually, it seemed as if everyone were simply choosing to not let his presence dampen their good spirits. Seeing he would be free of harassment for the moment, Prowl allowed himself to relax a fraction in return as he retrieved his own cube of energon.

Settling into a chair at the corner table Jazz led him to, Prowl continued to examine the masses of mechs around him. There were more smiles, more enthusiasm and more excitement than he had ever seen. It vaguely reminded him of the party the precinct Enforcers had thrown for their Department Chief on his 700th vorn. He had not been as nervous in crowds back then, though he had never enjoyed them either. Large groups of randomly congregating mechs usually meant a loss of order and a loss of order meant an increase in undisciplined behavior, which typically resulted in additional processor aches.

Prowl took a sip of his energon, struggling free of the memory that was suddenly made painful knowing his choice to join Megatron had betrayed much of what he had claimed to believe as an Enforcer, he glanced at Jazz. "Everyone appears to be rather upbeat."

Jazz nodded. "Yeah. It's been vorns since we've had a victory like that." He paused, glancing at Prowl with a devious smirk. He continued, his voice louder than it necessarily had to be. "And it was all possible 'cause of ya, Prowl."

Prowl stiffened as that comment drew immediate attention, proving that the apparent disinterest in his presence was just that; a thin façade. One of the mechs nearest them, a bright red frame with a build somewhere between that of a scout and a front line warrior, spoke up.

"You mean whatever juicy secrets you got outta his head gave us what we needed to slag serious 'Con tailpipe today?" He lifted his energon cube and grinned widely. "That's awesome, Jazz!"

Jazz grimaced, noticing how Prowl went completely stiff at the boastful words and intentionally demeaning tone. He shook his helm, noticing how even though the party continued, most were paying at least some attention to the interaction.

Even so, Jazz's reply was delivered with his usual air of jaunty casualness "Nah, Cliffjumper. I meant that he was the one who planned the attack and he was the one managing the battle."

Dead silence settled on the rec room, even the soft sound of air moving through vents paused momentarily as every optic instantly snapped to the amber-gazed Praxian.

It was all Prowl could do not to shoot Jazz a nasty look at making him the center of attention like this and his processor fought back the ache that Ratchet's scan had made worse as he tried to find a way to diffuse the situation.

A small green and gray minibot broke the silence first. "That isn't possible, Jazz. We heard Smoky on the comm."

There was general agreement as affirming murmurs spread through the crowd.

Jazz merely smirked. "Smokescreen was hardwired to Prowl 'cause they knew no one'd follow his orders directly." Jazz nodded in Prowl's direction. "But I was there."

A dark gray mech with orange highlights shook his helm in disbelief, optics flicking back and forth between saboteur and tactician uneasily and he pointed at Prowl. "So… if he was calling the shots out there, is he running the whole tactical department now?"

Prowl cut off the beginnings of horrified whispers with a quick, definitive. "No. Smokescreen is. I am merely an offensive tactician working under his command."

The mech in question flinched back at Prowl's sharp tone and glanced at Jazz, but the saboteur was simply looking at Prowl, that irrepressible and indefinable smirk plastered on his lip plates. It was enough for Prowl to realize that Jazz had accomplished whatever it was he had set out to accomplish.

The tactician released an irritated and yet relieved huff of air as the celebrating mechs slowly started to go back to their high-grade. Still discomfited by Jazz's expression he looked down at his own cube of blessedly _plain_ energon and took a sip.

He stiffened again as Jazz leaned close, whispering almost conspiratorially. "Ya know, keep this up an' ya just might be running the tactical division some orn."

Prowl shot Jazz an indulgent if somewhat bemused and long suffering look. "I am not even an Autobot yet, Jazz."

The sudden accolades, even as cautious and obliquely delivered as they had been, were unnerving, as was the celebratory atmosphere. Such excitement following such a relatively simple battle would have been unheard of in the Decepticon ranks. He had only done his function, as had they. It should not be such a novel thing as to warrant such a unified response.

He pondered that as the rec room door slid open again and the familiar, regal form of Optimus Prime strode in. He watched as the Prime greeted the mechs under his command with warmth and affection, even if he maintained that hint of reserve that served to elevate him beyond being simply another mech to party with. Seeing him like this, surrounded not by his most senior officers but by the rank and file soldier whom he commanded, reinforced how naturally he carried the authority and power of his office.

Optimus' mere presence made even slightly overcharged warriors sit straighter, those who usually tended towards impertinence spoke with more care and no one could help but be aware of what the Prime said or did even if it was not directed toward them.

It was much the same way mechs reacted to him, Prowl realized, except the opposite. Where they stiffened with tension or animosity, here they straightened with respect and deference. Where with Prowl they watched him suspiciously, with the Prime they watched with reverence…

It was then that Prowl realized even the Prime seemed almost… lighter… than he had before and he recognized that for what it was. Optimus himself was not immune to the generally more upbeat atmosphere. His doorwings flicked unhappily. It was _wrong_ that victory should be such a foreign thing that it would have _this_ much of an affect on morale, especially victory in a relatively uncontested battlefield.

But then, it had been nearly a decavorn since the Autobots had had any offensive victories. They might have been able to hold onto installations the Decepticons had tried to take, but at least as far as back as Prowl had been with the Decepticons, they had never bested them in any offensive manner….

Right. Because he had been doing for the Decepticons what he had just done for them.

Of course.

That painted a whole new picture of the possible underlying meanings of what Jazz had meant when he claimed this was all because of him and Prowl felt his core temperature inch upwards.

Prowl straightened as it became clear that the Prime was walking their direction.

He stood respectfully as the Prime stopped in front of their table, his actions mirrored by Jazz. He was aware that he was once again the center of the room's attention.

"Congratulations, Prowl" Optimus spoke warmly, but in such a way that indicated he fully intended the others to hear.

Prowl cleared his vents, distinctly uncomfortable and not completely able to hide that fact. "Congratulations are hardly necessary, Prime. I merely fulfilled my duty."

Optimus smiled as if he expected such an answer. "Still, success should be acknowledged."

Prowl looked up at the Prime's rich blue optics briefly and suddenly felt unworthy of such public praise, not here, not when it had been _his_ actions while under Megatron's command that had ensured many of their comrades were not here to celebrate this victory with them.

He found himself shaking his helm, averting his gaze. "No tactical plan is better than those who carry it out. If you wish to acknowledge success, let it be to those who actually risked their sparks to make the victory happen."

The rec room was again eerily silent as the Prime considered the Praxian standing before him with faintly quivering doorwings. The silence stretched for a long, uncomfortable moment before the Prime obligingly lifted his cube and acknowledged those in the rec room with them.

The, albeit slightly subdued, cheer that action generated helped thaw the tension of the moment.

When the Prime spoke again it was with softer tones, though there was no escaping the fact that everyone nearby heard what he said. "You risked your own spark, in a way. Despite what you said, there were many ways things could have gone wrong out there. If they had…" he trailed off, looking unhappy.

Prowl lifted his gaze back up. "If they had gone as poorly as the last time, I have no doubt what the fallout would have been. It was a necessary risk."

"To prove yourself?" Optimus asked with a hint of challenge in his words.

Prowl's doorwings flinched minutely. "To help win the war and save lives. If that is accomplished, it is irrelevant whether I ever, as you say, 'prove myself.'"

Jazz snorted air through his vents at that but the Prime merely smiled, taking a sip from his own cube. "Smokescreen is already pushing me to end your probation at the earliest possible moment."

Prowl frowned ever so slightly, troubled by that as well as by the subtle increase of tension in the mechs around them who were diligently trying to appear as if they were ignoring them.

"Smokescreen is biased because of our previous working relationship." Prowl stated cautiously.

Optimus actually chuckled gently at that, giving a tiny shake of his helm. "Indeed. Initially he wanted you stasis-locked indefinitely. He rattled off a whole list of reasons why it was the most logical thing to do. Somehow you have managed to gain his confidence."

Prowl groaned softly, as the ache in his processor only grew. With a sigh of air he gave up trying to deflect the praise regardless of how unnecessary it was and settled for trying a different approach: strategic withdrawal "Prime, with your permission, I would like to go recharge."

The _almost_ mischievous glint in the Prime's optics sobered instantly, replaced by compassion. "Yes. I imagine you must have a sizable processor ache after all of that. This might help, courtesy of Ratchet."

Prowl blinked, but gratefully accepted the pain chip the Prime held out to him. He fingered it for a moment then slipped it into a wrist port. The vent of air that hissed through his systems was one of pure relief as the pain ebbed immediately. "Thank you, sir."

"You are welcome." Optimus was still considering him thoughtfully. "You may take the next orn off Prowl."

Prowl's doorwings flared with alarm at the thought of that much time to sit and think. "Sir, that is not…"

"That is an order." Optimus' tone was firm but not unkind.

Prowl's mouth opened to object but he caught himself, stiffening. His place was far to precarious to risk questioning such a clear-cut order, especially one he knew was intended as a kindness to him "Yes, sir."

Feeling his frame heat as the Prime and Jazz continued to look at him, now with unreadable expressions, Prowl stood. Suddenly wanting out of the rec room, which was feeling almost claustrophobic, he bowed to the Prime. "By your leave, sir?"

Optimus nodded regally, though Prowl thought he might have seen the hint of _something_ in the Prime's optics. "Of course."

Prowl straightened and hastily retreated, glad to put the bustling celebration behind him. He was completely unaware that, nor would he have cared much at that moment, the Supreme Commander of the Autobot forces and his Head of Special Operations watched him the whole way.

Once the former Decepticon's spark signature no longer registered on their proximity scanners, Jazz canted a look at his leader. "That was a low-blow, Boss; using that coding against him like that."

Optimus said nothing for a long moment, though his battle mask was up when he returned Jazz's look. "One thing I have learned since becoming Prime, is that sometimes extreme measures are necessary."

* * *

_Just a heads up: the absolutely ridiculous work schedule that helped lead to my being so absolutely exhausted for the last two weeks is going to continue for __**another**__ two weeks. For that reason, please do not get discouraged if the next update is also delayed. Yes, I enjoy the extra income, but I can't wait till the new person starts and I'm not trying to do the job of two people. _

_In the mean time, I do appreciate hearing from you guys. Thank you for making this such a fun story to write and update!_


	26. Adaptation

_First, I wish to thank everyone for your kind thoughts and prayers. Each and every one of them was gratefully appreciated. I only have one more week of really tough work schedule, then it should even out. Also, my thanks to **vacant house **for helping me clarify some issues with the briefing seen in the last chapter...that scene has been slightly revised, if anyone is interested.**  
**_

_Credits for this chapter: A review from __**Sunstarunicorn**__ helped inspire the third scene and its POV. Similarly, A review from __**Icesong180 **__encouraged me to go ahead and write the first scene. And the second scene is for all of you who were ready to club poor Ironhide in the helm at the end of the last chapter…which was __**all**__ of you, actually… I hope it gives you a little satisfaction. __*Smirk*._

* * *

Bluestreak's excitement at seeing Prowl had been enough to soothe the lingering ache in Prowl's processor. When the door to Chromia's quarters had opened, he just stood there, staring up at him, a bright grin on his faceplate.

"Prowl!" But the youngling did not move for the longest time. He just continued to stand there, looking at him adoringly.

"Bluestreak, are you well?" Prowl asked.

The blue and gray youngling nodded eagerly and then stepped forward to reach for Prowl's hand.

Baffled by this change in his behavior, Prowl let himself be tugged gently down so that he was kneeling at Bluestreak's level.

"Chromia said you were in charge of things out there today." That smile reappeared. "That you were the one who decided who did what and things like that. That means that they are trusting you, and that they won't be as mean to you because they are listening to you about things like battles and fighting and, um, stuff…Right?"

Prowl allowed his lip plate to twitch. "It means they are trusting me a little more than they had." He corrected gently. "It is not all the way though and I doubt it is every one."

"But… it's better than it was, right?"

"Much better." No sooner had he got those words out then Bluestreak had leapt across the short distance separating them to latch onto Prowl's chassis, his small frame thrumming with a happy croon.

"You did good, Prowl." Chromia said from behind Bluestreak. When Prowl looked up at her she was not exactly smiling, though her posture was relaxed. "We haven't had a battle that well coordinated since the war started, though Smokescreen has done good with some of the defensive actions."

Prowl found his frame heating, still discomfited by the praise. "I did my duty. That the outcome was so positive is its own reward."

Chromia just looked at him for a moment, then smirked. "If you insist. The mechlings were building something, I'll give Bluestreak his morning energon tomorrow, if you don't mind him coming over that early, of course."

Prowl blinked. He had been ordered to take the next orn off, and was not sure what he would do if he were divested of both his work and his guardian responsibilities.

Chromia seemed to be able to read the almost blank look on his faceplate as her smirk only grew. "Don't worry, Prowl. It will only be for a handful of joors. Ironhide will be here tomorrow to help, so they should be done by mid-orn or so. I know you probably want some time with Bluestreak."

Prowl considered that for a moment, but when he looked at Bluestreak's hopeful expression he felt his spark melt. He would not deny the youngling, not when his short life had been so full of woe. He was jealous for the youngster to have as many moments of joy as possible, even if it meant denying himself the little one's company. He might have asked to stay with them, but being in Ironhide's and Chromia's quarters was an… awkward thought. And if Ironhide was going to be present the next orn as well… No, his relationship with the massive weapon's specialist was not one that allowed such casual interactions.

No, he was still a POW and, at least with Ironhide, that reality seemed to take precedence. He would drop Bluestreak off the next orn because that was the easiest thing to do.

Prowl nodded. "I shall bring him early, then."

Bluestreak lit up and Prowl realized he had made the right choice. It helped ease his frustration he felt at the situation.

On the way back to their quarters, Bluestreak talked non-stop about various things, almost skipping with his excitement. Yet, whenever Prowl attempted to ask about his project with Bumblebee, he always avoided the topic or would reply with an evasive, "it's a surprise."

Intrigued and bemused by this behavior, though perhaps a little wary as to what _type_ of surprise it might be, Prowl eventually stopped asking. He toyed with the idea of demanding to know what was going on, but the thought of the hurt Bluestreak might feel if his 'surprise' were ruined prevented him. As much antipathy as Ironhide might have for him and as much distrust as Chromia might maintain toward him, Prowl did not believe they would allow anything truly dangerous or negative. It might have been a calculated risk, but Prowl felt relatively certain it was worth taking.

Time would tell.

… … …

As promised, Prowl took Bluestreak to spend the early part of the next orn with Bumblebee. As Chromia had promised, Ironhide was indeed there. In fact, he was the one who greeted them.

At first the larger mech stood in the doorway regarding Prowl with something almost akin to awkwardness. Then he looked down to where Bluestreak was tapping his leg plating. "Yes, little one?"

"Why are you just standing there? We have a lot we have to get done, and Chromia said you were the best one to do this type of thing. And we are down to the final little bits, well, they aren't so little I guess, but… do you really think we will be able to finish it today?"

Ironhide smiled briefly and knelt to be at the youngling's level. "I'm pretty sure we'll finish it, don't worry. I'll be inside in a little bit. I need to speak to your guardian first."

Prowl stiffened at those words and Bluestreak must have sensed his sudden tension for his small face furrowed into a suddenly concerned frown. "Are you going to be nice to him now?"

Ironhide had the good graces to wince at that question. "I'm not going to hurt him."

Bluestreak hesitated and glanced back and up at Prowl. Prowl had not anticipated this, but knew better than to try and avoid the coming confrontation if Ironhide was determined to see it happen. And he did not want Bluestreak to witness it.

Prowl nodded to the youngling, attempting to appear calmer than he felt. "Go on, Bluestreak. I appreciate your desire to protect me, but you heard Ironhide. I am in no danger."

Bluestreak nodded hesitantly and walked into his friend's quarters.

Ironhide let him in then stepped into the hall. The door closed behind the Autobot and, even though the hall stretched on either side of them, Prowl felt as if he were trapped with no escape. Thus he waited silently, diligently working not to give evidence of his mounting anxiety as he rapidly tried to review what he might have possibly done to offend the other mech.

Finally, Ironhide spoke. "I'm surprised you would be so quick to trust me."

Prowl frowned unable to shake the suspicion that Ironhide was stalling. "You gave your word."

"And that's enough?" The mech demanded, stepping closer with something dangerously close to anger mixing with incredulity in his voice and expression. "Even after sending you into the 'Con's clutches? Even after coming between you and Bluestreak? Even after every other fragging thing?"

Prowl's optics narrowed, his focus on Ironhide as he sensed there was more going on than met the optic, something that seemed out of place and it made him even more wary. He spoke slowly, carefully. "You have never promised me 'kind' or 'fair' treatment. Nor did you do so just now. You have been honest with your intentions toward me to this point and I have no reason to believe you would act differently now."

"Excuse me?" Ironhide blinked at him with slack faceplate, completely taken off guard by Prowl's reply.

Prowl's doorwings flinched faintly at the deep rev of Ironhide's engine and it took a moment before he could make himself explain. "From the moment you captured me, I have not had to guess where I stand with you. Even if it has not been pleasant, and that fact in itself is a type of stability I find reassuring."

Ironhide actually broke optic contact at that point, his engine revving again. Prowl would have had to fight a tremble at that fact, but Ironhide seemed almost troubled, lost either in his own thoughts or recent memories. As it was, Prowl was loath to interrupt in any way.

After a long, uncomfortable moment Ironhide released a deep vent. "Well, it's really hard for me to trust a 'Con. _Any_ 'Con. Let alone _like_ one. It isn't going to happen over night and I'm not sure if that last bit will _ever_ happen."

"Understandable, sir." Prowl intoned softly into what he thought was an expectant pause.

Ironhide's gaze refocused on him and then sharpened. Prowl's own vents hitched as he became more even uncomfortable under the scrutiny that was filled with too much emotion for his comfort. In Prowl's experience, when temperamental mechs like Ironhide struggled with excessive emotion it was not a pleasant experience for him.

Not knowing exactly what to expect from the black mech – for the first time ever – Prowl ducked his doorwings fractionally, making his posture a hint more submissive, not wanting to set Ironhide off.

In response, Ironhide only released an irritated huff of air and gestured harshly up and down his frame with one hand. "See. It's scrap like that that makes it slagging difficult not to believe you."

"…Sir?"

Ironhide released another gust of heated air and looked aside, deflating visibly and Prowl was afraid to even move as Ironhide shook his helm.

The moment of silence stretched until Ironhide broke it, sounding as if the words were being torn free of his vocalizer under duress. "I've been thinking about what you said. I did not mean to make Bluestreak fearful of you. I'm surprised you would continue to let him stay in my keeping after that."

Prowl released a gust of air he had forgotten to cycle. "Bumblebee is his only friend. I would not separate them. Also…" he hesitated as Ironhide brought his cobalt gaze back up, then plunged ahead. "Also, you gave your word it would not happen again."

Ironhide just stared at him.

The moment of uneasy silence stretched to become almost intolerable and then Ironhide released a huff of air that was almost a snort, but held a hint of exasperation just underneath the usual gruffness Prowl had come to expect from him.

Ironhide snorted again. "The Prime was right. I have not treated you fairly."

Prowl fought the impulse to step backward at hearing those words from _Ironhide_ and found that he was shaking his helm. "You have treated me no worse than I expected…"

Ironhide growled angrily, though not necessarily at Prowl, and cut him off. "Which means I've treated you like slagging 'Con would."

Prowl blinked, more at how the words were delivered than at the words themselves. "No…" He almost stopped as Ironhide growled at him. "… you have not treated me nearly as poorly as my former faction has, let alone how they would have treated an Autobot. I am still alive. Nor have I been beaten by you…"

Another low growl from Ironhide's engine cut Prowl off. "Not by me, but I sent you back to them _knowing_ they _would."_

Ironhide's gaze was almost challenging and Prowl blinked again, careful to reinforce his calm exterior. "I was not aware that mission was assigned with malice."

Ironhide's helm rocked back visibly. "What?" Then he shook a hand negatingly. "It wasn't, not like that. I mean, not _intentionally,_ though it didn't break my spark at the time."

Prowl might have imagined the slight grimace that ghosted across Ironhide's features and he did not dare explore any of the sudden riptide of conflicting emotions that statement generated in his own processor.

He spoke after a long moment. "If it was not maliciously intended, then you should not feel obligated to apologize. I understand the reasoning behind that mission." Then softer, "I did not think it was troubling you."

Ironhide growled at him again, clearly becoming more distressed, though by what Prowl could not fathom. Then the weapon specialist paced away. Prowl found he was afraid to move as the massive mech suddenly turned and stormed back. "You… you walking calculator, pieced together by mismatched scrap! Are you always this obtuse?"

Prowl blinked, feeling as if the world were spinning around him. "Sir?"

Ironhide stepped even closer, looming over him with one hand clenched into a fist, the other one gesturing off to one side with short, clipped movements. "I'm trying to _apologize_ for making your life a living _pit_ since you got here and you go on justifying it and acting like it isn't a big deal. And it might not be to you, but I pushed the fragging limits of my own slagging moral coding and it sucks to pit to realize I misjudged you this whole time. And I really, _really_ don't like the queasiness this whole fragged situation is causing in my tanks." Ironhide's passion as well as his volume was increasing as he continued until he was all but yelling. "And you aren't helping. So. Shut. The. Frag. Up!"

Prowl snapped his denta together with an audible clang, unable to do anything but stare up at the looming visage of the Autobot that had managed to back him up against the wall opposite the door to his quarters. Afraid to even clear his vents he nodded mute understanding of the order.

Seeming to realize all of a sudden what he had done, Ironhide blinked and stepped back quickly.

Even so the strained silence continued to hang between them. As the uncomfortable standoff continued, Prowl managed to regain his composure first and forced his gaze downward, not wanting to inadvertently set Ironhide off again.

Seeing this, Ironhide dragged in a cooling draft of air. "Prowl…"

Ironhide trailed off when Prowl's doorwings flinched as if he were expecting some kind of physical assault. That single, involuntary response only drove home just how unfair he had been, that Prowl would _still_ expect the same treatment he would from a Decepticon.

A fragment of that conversation with Optimus replayed through his processor.

_Ironhide's fierce defiance, "We are __**not**__ Decepticons!"_

_The Prime's almost sad disappointment and firm exhortation. "Then ensure we do not act like them."_

Ironhide's next words were spoken in a pained, near whisper. "I am not a Decepticon, Prowl."

Prowl blinked, then averted his gaze once more. He nodded acknowledging the statement, but he did not speak. Not when the last order he had received had so heatedly demanded his silence.

Ironhide started to say something else, half-way lifting his hand, but then stopped, realizing he had blown this attempt at an apology. He released a huff of air and stepped back, giving Prowl some space, relieving some of the pressure on the Praxian.

"You did good yesterday, against all expectations when you first came here. Including mine."

Prowl relaxed a fraction and dipped his helm, keeping his tone carefully controlled. "I am grateful to have been given the opportunity."

Ironhide regarded him for a moment longer and then nodded, retreating back behind the doors to his quarters.

Prowl stared at the closed porthole for a long moment, surprised at how shaken the encounter had left him. He hoped it was something a cube of energon could help with.

… … …

Beachcomber sagged into his chair in the rec room, sipping absently from his energon cube. Hound sat next to him, a friendly hand on his arm, offering support by his presence. True, Beachcomber had not known Blades for very long, only a vorn or so, but he had become friends with the young and energetic front-liner. He was rare among that class in that Blades never demeaned him for his pacifistic tendencies.

Now the poor mech was stasis-locked in the ICU with a low probability of recovering from his injuries. Ratchet and First Aid had worked through the night to try and stabilize him and the handful of other critically injured mechs from the recent battle. But that was the last he had heard and Beachcomber was worried.

Movement at the rec room entrance caught his attention as another mech entered. It was Prowl. The black and white Praxian met his gaze briefly and a doorwing flicked minutely before he kept walking.

"They are doing everything they can for him. You know that." Hound murmured softly.

Beachcomber nodded, still regarding the former Decepticon as the tactician made his way to the energon dispenser. "I know. But a cracked spark-case…" He trailed off, then lowered his voice. "Are the rumors true?"

Hound followed Beachcomber's gaze with his own. "Apparently. According to Jazz and then confirmed by the Prime. I know it was Smokey's voice, but it was sure like what Prowl did for Springer, Moonracer and I… just on a much bigger scale."

"I wonder…" Beachcomber shook his helm and looked down. He did not know Prowl well enough to risk pressing him for answers.

Hound looked at him for a moment and then looked back at Prowl and frowned. He glanced between the miserable looking Beachcomber and the stiff, almost nervous Praxian. Then he straightened, making a decision, and waved Prowl over as the tactician started to sit at an isolated, corner table.

"Prowl." Hound called. "Why don't you join us."

Beachcomber blinked at his companion, those words were not spoken as a question and were commanding enough to be just shy of a simple invitation. What was Hound thinking?

Prowl's doorwings flicked again and Beachcomber just barely kept himself from wincing as Prowl looked from Hound to him. He found he was not able to meet that amber gaze for long. Then he felt his spark pulse stutter as Prowl straightened and slowly started their direction.

It was clear the Praxian wanted this confrontation no more than Beachcomber had any desire to cause one. Yet he still followed the commanding undertone of Hound's order.

"Yes, Hound?" Prowl asked softly as he approached.

Hound pointed to the empty seat across from Beachcomber and then nodded to him. "Beachcomber has a couple of questions for you, I think."

Those doorwings flicked minutely again as Prowl settled respectfully if still resignedly into the indicated seat, glancing between them. "Have I done something wrong?"

The soft question got Beachcomber's attention and he shot startled optics to the tactician. The golden optics that met his were filled with muted concern. Beachcomber opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again.

He shuttered his optics briefly, rebuking himself. Prowl had been kind to him in the past. Clearly, he was not an evil or inherently mean mech. Steeling himself with that reminder, Beachcomber sucked in a draft of air and addressed the tactician, even though he could not quite meet his gaze.

"Did… did you really direct the battles out there? _Both_ of them?" Beachcomber winced, that came out more accusatory than he had intended. But Prowl did not balk or grow irate at the implied accusation.

Instead, the tactician averted his own gaze fractionally, simply waiting for whatever he thought might becoming next, clearly not attempting to avoid something he thought would be unpleasant. "Yes."

"Did…" Beachcomber trailed off, suddenly intimidated by the intense gaze that focused back on him, even if it was remarkably kind. He shook his helm. "N…never mind."

Prowl frowned minutely. "Ask your question, Beachcomber." When Beachcomber hesitated and looked away, an even softer, "please," was added.

Surprised, Beachcomber looked back at the former Decepticon to see that he had assumed an entirely non-threatening, almost submissive posture with doorwings tucked and optics lowered.

Hound shifted in his seat and the hand on Beachcomber's arm tightened fractionally in silent encouragement.

Taking courage in his friend's confidence, Beachcomber plunged ahead. "Did… did you know the designations of the mechs you sent into battle?"

Prowl's gaze shot up to meet his perhaps just a touch wider than normal and with – though it was so faint it might have been his imaginative subroutines – a hint of pain. Prowl was silent for a beat and then answered, his voice a touch strained. "While I am familiar with the designations of every mech on the mission, I… I cannot claim that meets the criteria I believe you are truly inquiring about."

Something about the formal tenor of that answer made Beachcomber's engine rev weakly. "Blades was… _is_… my friend. And… I know we usually have even more fatalities and injuries than this, and I'm grateful for that but… I mean… to think that the mech sending… Um… I'm sorry."

Beachcomber looked down at his half-finished energon cube miserably. Miserable that he had let his worry over Blades hinder his restraint and miserable about the fact he felt miserable about it. He did not see the confused and troubled look Prowl shot toward Hound.

He did hear Hound's answer, however. "He's saying that it will make us _all_ feel better knowing that the mech sending us into danger as some sense of… personal responsibility. Um, that our lives aren't just numbers in a calculation to you."

Beachcomber looked back up, encouraged to know he was not the only one feeling that way and met Prowl's questioning look with an expression he knew was pleading, but could not change that fact. He wanted to be able to trust Prowl, but was afraid to hope. Yes, Prowl had been civil to him in the past, but he had still been a _Decepticon_ and, for all intents and purposes, appeared nearly totally emotionless.

Something in Prowl's gaze did not let Beachcomber look away this time, however. The tactician's voice, when he finally spoke, was remarkably gentle. "_Is_ that what you are asking, Beachcomber?"

Beachcomber hesitated and then nodded mutely.

Prowl's optics unfocused slightly as his thoughts turned inward and Beachcomber glanced at Hound, neither having expected him to take their question so seriously. It was surprising, but also heartening. Their attention was snagged back to the Praxian as he spoke, optic shutters flicking closed briefly.

"You are correct, of course." Golden optics snapped back open to meet Beachcomber's and it appeared to take a concerted effort to do so. "This is something you have every right to expect of your tacticians. Thank you for reminding me of that."

Prowl hesitated a moment then stood. He started to turn away then stopped. He looked back at Hound and then his gaze slid to Beachcomber and though it remained almost bland, the peace-loving Autobot thought he saw a hint of deeper emotion, almost pleading behind it, as if he desperately wanted to be believed but was afraid to ask.

Prowl spoke, even more softly. "I assure you, other than accomplishing the mission, my primary goal was to do so with the lowest number of casualties possible. But you are correct in that where I failed it is not as… personal as it perhaps should be. If you will excuse me, I will go address that matter."

With that, Prowl ducked his doorwings deferentially and turned to leave. They watched him go and then looked at each other.

"What… what do you think he means by that?" He asked Hound after the door closed behind the tactician. "Do you think he was just trying to get away from us?"

Hound shook his helm, optics dropping to the all but untouched cube of energon Prowl had left on the table. "No… I don't know what he meant, but I do think he was serious."

… … …

Hound's question continued to cycle through Prowl's processor as he walked down the nearly deserted halls of the Autobot base. He was grateful it was quiet; that most of the mechs not actually having to be on duty were resting off a pleasant overcharge from the previous night's celebration. It gave him time to contemplate the myriad of conflicting thoughts and emotions his encounter with Hound and Beachcomber had generated.

He had thought modifying his ethical programming had solved his initial concern about morality problems that might have been generated by corruption from his time as a Decepticon. But Hound had pointed out that he had missed at least one crucial thing.

Unlike the gradual distortion of the more straightforward aspects of his ethical coding, Prowl could pinpoint exactly when that change had happened for it had been his choice to turn away from the perspective it offered.

Back before the war, from the time he had been responsible for directing the tactical department of the Praxian Enforcer Corps, Prowl had made a point to put a faceplate to every casualty and fatality report following an engagement he had directed. He had known that his job necessitated a certain level of separation from those whose lives he had to put in danger, but he had not wanted that distance to make him callus or make him forget that they were not just names in a datafile but mechs… _sparks._

Prowl paused, realizing his pedes had carried him to the med bay as if of their own accord. He glanced at the reinforced metal doors and gathered his courage as he reached for the door control.

Once he had joined the Decepticons, he had quit this particular practice because he had known it would be seen as a weakness among Megatron's troops. And the weak did not survive. Megatron did not care how many of his underlings perished, so long as his plans succeeded. That was one of the early warnings he had ignored that he had made the wrong choice. Unfortunately, it had been a relatively easy one to avoid: he had just ceased doing what he was now here to do and had allowed the isolation of his function to crystallize.

But Hound had been correct to point out the error of that methodology.

Taking in a vent of air, Prowl stepped into the med bay.

The lights were lowered in honor of the early hour and the lack of traffic. Like the rest of the base, it was quiet. All of the minor injuries had been dealt with and the only occupants were those in the ICU. Just past the ICU was the processing room where the empty frames of the deceased were prepared for salvage and reclamation.

Monitors beeped, various support equipment hissed and whistled as they worked to keep the gravely injured on this side of the Well.

At the moment, no medics were on the floor, obviously trusting their equipment to monitor their charges, at least for the moment.

It granted him at least a few seconds of privacy.

As silently as he could, Prowl crossed the med bay to the ICU, accessing the casualty and fatality lists and cross-referencing them with the med bay census.

He did not know any of these warriors and it had become easy to brush off lives he did not know. Frighteningly easy. At least it was _now_, after his time as a Decepticon. No, he would not risk being that isolated, that remote from the suffering of others again.

No, Hound and Beachcomber had a right, and more than that they had been right to demand he put a faceplate to each name.

He walked slowly up the long isle of the ICU, taking the time to familiarize himself with the faceplate and injuries of each mech he passed. He knew it was not his fault they were here now, not directly. Things happened in battle, things no tactician could control. He had learned that lesson decavorns ago. But it did ensure he had a more personal connection to those who were depending on his strategies to have a chance of surviving. And now it also served to remind him just how much the Autobots were trusting him, taking a chance with him, to let him have that authority: he, the very one who had once made it his goal to kill as many of them as possible.

It was trust he would never take lightly.

He came to a stop in the doorway of the processing room. Only three of the five fatalities had been recovered from the battlefield.

As he looked at the empty frames he felt the final remaining pieces of Enforcer coding that had been suppressed during his time with the Decepticons reactivate. The initial changes might have been minor, but they caused a cascade of other such changes all through his programming and suddenly his perspective shifted subtly.

His primary duty was not just to defeat Megatron in order to protect Cybertron; it was to protect _life_.

He was an _Enforcer_, first and foremost; a _protector._ To be an Enforcer was to accept the mantle of responsibility of safeguarding those who were weaker, those who could not defend themselves. Yes, he had a duty to protect Cybertron, but not at the expense of the former.

As these internal changes synched with his other systems, integrating fully with his recently revamped ethical subroutines, the more stringent coding no longer felt as burdensome. It was who he had always been… or at the very least who he was supposed to be. And now his core mission, his ultimate purpose and the true reason he was created with the abilities he had been, gave him back a measure of autonomy in that now even his ethical programs were subjugated to that core coding.

Prowl shuttered his optics briefly and then refocused on the frames now lying inert on the processing berths. "I am sorry."

He was not sure who he was speaking to. To those he had failed in siding with the Decepticons. To those he had not been able to bring back to Iacon whole in this last battle. To himself.

Regardless, the whispered words were soon drowned out by the beeps and whistles of the medical equipment. With a sigh of air, Prowl stepped back and allowed the door to close, hiding the grayed out frames. He felt a familiar spark signature approach from behind and was not naive enough to realize he had been caught trespassing where he was probably not wanted.

"What are you doing?" Ratchet demanded from the door to the ICU sounding more weary than suspicious.

Prowl turned slowly, and gave the medic a short, formal half-bow. "I am remembering."

Ratchet blinked, jerking back slightly, clearly not expecting that. Then he frowned and pointed behind himself in clear indication of what he wanted. "Yeah, well, go 'remember' someplace else."

"As you wish." Prowl acquiesced easily, though he let his optics sweep the still forms of the gravely injured once again.

Ratchet was standing to one side of the doorway as he approached and, Prowl realized, he was not meeting his gaze. In fact, Ratchet was looking down uneasily as Prowl passed him, stepping back into the med bay-proper. Accepting that Ratchet likely had a lot to deal with at that moment, Prowl wordlessly continued toward the exit.

He had only taken a handful of steps when Ratchet called out his designation. "Prowl…"

Prowl turned back to him, his expression carefully respectful and expectant, willing to accept whatever the CMO might wish to unleash for his uninvited invasion into the sanctity of his medical ward.

"Listen, about last decaorn…" Ratchet grimaced, "Look, I'm…"

Prowl realized then what Ratchet was about to say, especially with the way he kept his gaze lowered contritely. It was an unnatural thing to see in Ratchet.

Prowl spoke softly, his optics shimmering with his conviction. "Do not apologize, Ratchet."

"I would have kept you from defending yourself from Jazz, if you had tried." Ratchet said hoarsely, his tone harsh with self-reproach.

Surprised, and now processing that memory through re-awakened coding, Prowl looked away. "But I did not try. No, it was well deserved."

Ratchet's optics widened and it was a moment before he could speak. "But… that wasn't your plan."

Prowl nodded once. "No. But that is why I do not deserve your apology."

"I don't understand." Ratchet blinked again.

Prowl considered the medic silently for a long moment then decided to answer fully. Ratchet was a medic, he too had core coding that demanded obedience even above his allegiance to the Autobots. Of all mechs, he should understand the changes that had just unfolded in Prowl's CPU. And, having recently been in his mind, Ratchet was unlikely to take what he was about to say in an unintended manner.

"I had forgotten that my primary duty was to _protect_. To protect life, to protect the rights of others. I had focused only on ending the war, thinking that that _alone_ would serve that goal. I blindly viewed orders as the only means to achieving that very narrow objective. And I failed to maintain the ethical standards I was programmed with." Prowl considered Ratchet carefully. "Had I remembered my primary purpose, I would never have participated in that assignment, or allowed my work to be modified by mechs inexperienced with that level of complexity, for the very reasons I knew the end result had been a high probability."

Ratchet was silent for a long moment, looking at him; evaluating. "And your duty to protect now supersedes your duty to obey orders?"

Prowl allowed himself to shake his helm ever so slightly. "Only if absolutely necessary, otherwise I am still tightly bound. Nor will it allow me to unlawfully avoid the consequences of disobeying orders. It does, however, return some autonomy."

He paused for a moment, considering the unsure look playing over Ratchet's faceplate. And spoke softly, addressing what he felt certain was the underlying reason for that concern. "You are, of course, welcome to examine the changes I have mentioned, if you wish."

Ratchet hesitated again at that, looking up at his optics before glancing down at his dataport. Then he shook his helm slowly. "I know what your core programming is. I know it isn't a threat to us."

Prowl relaxed fractionally and dipped his helm in appreciation. Then he let the faintest wisps of a smile tip his lip plate. "A Prime's duty is also to protect and serve the citizens of Cybertron – a duty Megatron conveniently abandoned in his quest for domination and power, though I was blind not to see it at the time. So long as the Prime holds true to _his_ purpose, I can promise my own loyalty. However, my ethical programming will not permit me to maintain that loyalty if he should ever forget his own duty to Cybertron."

Ratchet's optics widened and then growled. "That will not happen. Not to Optimus."

Prowl considered the bright chartreuse medic for another astrosecond and then nodded formally. "Then I can freely and willingly pledge my spark to the Autobot cause and my own loyalty to him as the Prime."

Ratchet stood straighter then, optics darting over Prowl's frame. His next words were almost a whisper. "Are you going to tell him?"

"Yes." Prowl affirmed. Then, hearing one of the monitors in the ICU start to alarm he stepped back, indicating by body language he was aware his audience with the med bay's ruler was over. "Thank you for your time, Medic."

Ratchet did not spare time to reply or even acknowledge the statement as he spun on his heel and dashed into the ICU.

Prowl knew uninvited guests who were not injured were not welcome to dawdle in Ratchet's domain and so he hastily made his exit, amazed that his steps should feel simultaneously lighter and yet with a heavier burden. Perhaps it was because, finally, the burden he was carrying was the one he was designed and programmed to carry. So, while heavier, it was not difficult.

Yes, he would tell the Prime, inform him that the nature of his loyalty had changed and let the Autobot leader decide if that was acceptable or if it would alter the nature of his parole. But not right away. He wanted time to gain control of the changes that had been made, to center himself before he faced the Prime.

With that decision made, Prowl headed for the training room, eager to consider his new personal epiphanies in the peaceful ambiance of his old master's crystal garden.

… … …

In the end, Prowl had opted for the simulation of the dojo itself rather than the crystal garden, deeming that his processors were not troubled enough to warrant the more calming environment. Stillness was what he wanted, stillness that was more than what was offered by the hum of crystals, no matter how relaxing that song might be.

He had achieved that stillness within the first joor of his meditation and then had elected to maintain his meditative stance, enjoying the _peace_ he had managed to obtain. It was the tranquility of finally being at peace within his own processor, and free of conflicts within his coding and spark.

It had been nearly a decavorn since he had enjoyed such harmony within himself.

It was… pleasant.

Three full joors after he had first settled onto the recreated dojo's mat, Prowl's sensors picked up a single approaching mech. Belatedly rerouting power to his upgraded sensors, he recognized the spark signature only a few seconds before the training room door slid open.

His optics snapped online as he unfolded his legs to stand respectfully, bowing his helm. "Prime."

Optimus considered him for a moment, just looking at him in that way that made it feel like he was seeing into a mech's very spark. Finding he had no desire to avoid that inspection, Prowl just waited for the Prime to satisfy his curiosity.

Perhaps sensing the change in him, Optimus canted his helm ever so gently. "Ratchet warned me you might be coming to see me. When I did not hear from you, I began to worry."

It was a question but was not framed as one, giving Prowl the option as to whether he would answer it or not. It was a kindness, a consideration he was slowly coming to associate with the Prime and while Megatron might consider such a thing a weakness, Prowl was learning to see the great strength that required.

But his statement, the ease with which the Prime had tracked him to his location was also an unintentional reminder that he still wore a tracking device.

Prowl dipped his helm, trying to frame his reply, but Optimus took two more steps into the training room, allowing the door to close behind him. "Did you have plans to seek me out, or is this a misunderstanding?"

It was said without accusation, though it easily could have been. Instead, Prowl thought he detected evidence of true concern.

He lowered his gaze. "I do, and I would have shortly. You need not have troubled yourself on my account, Prime."

The large cobalt and crimson mech lifted a hand plactatingly and smiled ever so faintly. "It is no trouble."

He sounded absolutely serious. Prowl ducked his helm again, speaking softly. "I appreciate that, sir."

Optimus did not say anything for several long seconds, just looking a Prowl carefully and the tactician felt as if he was being seen clear down to his protoform. Once more, he could not say he truly objected to the feeling.

"There is something different about you, Prowl." Was what the Prime chose to say, again not actually asking a question and thus leaving it up to him to decide what to answer.

Prowl knew he would tell the Prime, he owed the other mech that much at least and he knew the Prime needed to know about the alterations in his coding that might affect his probation. It was a matter of full disclosure, and he knew he would follow it through.

But now that the moment was upon him, Prowl found he could not find appropriate words. It was an uncharacteristic feeling he did not appreciate

As if seeing his dilemma, the Prime turned away fractionally, "If you are not ready to speak to me, perhaps you would consider a different topic, a request?"

Prowl blinked, and then gratefully accepted the temporary compromise. "Of course, sir."

Optimus nodded formally, though there was a touch of… something in his optics. Whatever _it_ was, it was not unlike the wisp of what he had seen the previous night when the Prime had ordered him to take this orn off.

Before Prowl could properly identify it, the Prime spoke, almost cautiously "It is quiet for the moment, with no pressing duties for either of us. Perhaps you would consider a training session in Circuit Su?"

Prowl blinked, releasing a short huff of air in surprise, and then he felt his own lip plates twitch in an attempt to smile. He stepped back, inviting the Prime forward onto the mat. "Of course, Prime."

Faceplates relaxing into a faint smile, Optimus stepped onto the mat and faced Prowl, waiting with a calm that, while Prowl envied it, he also found he was able to draw a measure of calm from it himself.

They bowed to each other as tradition dictated and then Prowl cleared his vents. "What was the last form you learned?"

"Form Seventeen." Optimus replied immediately.

"Show me." Prowl commanded yet it was more of a polite request.

To his faint surprise, the Prime bowed again and then his frame flowed unhesitatingly into the first series of movements.

Feeling a touch surreal, Prowl circled the larger mech, watching critically. He was impressed, just as he had been during their sparring match, at how the Prime could carry the mass of his frame with such grace. Where the Lord Protector depended strictly on brute strength and raw power in any close quarter fight, the Prime preferred skill and lethal precision delivered with deadly refinement.

When the Prime finished the form, he stayed in the final stance and it took Prowl a moment to realize he was waiting to be given clearance to return to the ready position. It was evidence enough that the Prime was viewing him as a Master of the discipline, not just a mech who happened to know more than he.

It almost made his balance systems hitch as he gave the command and watched the Prime relax. He had to push the unsteady feeling aside.

Prowl cleared his vents again. "Very good. What have you learned of Form Eighteen?"

"Only series one through five. I have not yet mastered series five."

Prowl nodded, "Start at series one, please."

Once again, Optimus dropped smoothly into the first stance, hesitated the exact amount of time required and then flowed into a quick series of blows and blocks, to pause again before repeating the process. When he reached the fifth series of movements, Prowl stepped in to correct a minor stance issue with the second move. He only realized belatedly that he had dared to touch the prime without permission and tensed, but the larger mech just waited for the signal to continue.

Prowl made a handful of other corrections and each time when the corrections were readily accepted, Prowl began to gain confidence. He had the Prime repeat the fifth series of movements several more times, until he successfully did so without needing any input from Prowl.

Once they reached that point, Prowl demonstrated the sixth series from start to finish at full speed and then repeated the first eight moves much slower, pointing out the five areas that generally gave students the most difficulty.

Then he walked the Prime through those same stances and the transitions between them, helping Optimus to adjust the form to his frame and mass.

By the time they had reached the point where the Prime would be able to practice on his own without danger of introducing erroneous techniques, two joors had passed.

After their final bow to each other, Prowl sensed the change in the Autobot leader's demeanor. He was no longer the student; he was now strictly the Prime once again and Prowl responded automatically, stepping back respectfully.

"My thanks, Prowl." Optimus nodded formally.

"It was an honor, Prime." Prowl replied honestly, bowing.

Optimus considered him closely for a moment, gaze searching. "It is my hope you will be amenable to another such session at a future date."

Prowl allowed the barest hint of a pleased smile grace his lip plates as he dipped his helm. "More than amenable, sir; I would look forward to it."

The Prime straightened imperceptibly and stepped off the mat. "When you are ready to talk, just comm. me."

He did not give Prowl a chance to respond, perhaps not wanting to pressure him unnecessarily, and turned for the exit. It was that kindness that spurred Prowl to speak. Even so, Optimus was almost to the door before he gathered himself enough to do so.

"Prime…"

Optimus stopped, turning back to face him expectantly and Prowl found he was suddenly nervous. Despite his best efforts, his doorwings flicked. Though it was very unlikely that the Prime had missed that involuntary movement, he did nothing that would in any way pressure him into continuing. He just stood there, implacably calm.

Prowl knew that with his recent history, any modifications to his coding that mitigated that absolute obedience he knew at least some of the Autobots had come to depend on might be enough to make him too dangerous in their optics. He did not know if Optimus was one of those mechs.

But he would not lie, not now and not to the Prime.

He cleared his vents a third time, forcing himself to meet the Prime's expectant look. "You recently indicated you would be willing to consider me as an Autobot under your command if I was willing to take that step."

That sapphire gaze sharpened so quickly, Prowl could almost it. "Indeed. Have you made a decision?"

"I am an Enforcer, Prime." With those words, Prowl felt the nervousness fall away and he straightened, bringing his doorwings up to a properly attentive, if still deferential, posture. "Recent events have reactivated portions of my core coding that was suppressed during my time among the Decepticons. However, as an Enforcer, my primary duty is to protect: to protect lives, protect those unable to protect themselves and _thus_ protect Cybertron. I allowed myself to loose sight of that once. The adjustments I have made to my ethical programming since I have come to Iacon will not let me forget that again."

Optimus' optics brightened a little, though there was no indication this was new information to him. "In other words, you can now disobey the orders of your superiors in order to fulfill the dictates of your core programming."

Prowl dipped his helm. "Yes, sir."

"And your core programming is that of an Enforcer?" Again, he seemed to simply be confirming something he already knew.

"Yes, sir."

"Why do you tell me this?"

"At this moment, I am still your prisoner." Prowl replied softly. "You have a right to know something of that magnitude as the decision to accept my service as an Autobot ultimately rests in your hands."

Prowl fell silent then, waiting for the Prime to weigh his options and either make a decision or ask for further clarification. At length that gaze softened a fraction. "I _prefer_ that mechs under my command owe more allegiance to ideals rather than myself personally."

Prowl stared, and then released a sharp vent of air, relief flooding his wires, tension that had been building in his struts released so quickly he felt a touch weak. He looked down for a moment to gather himself, but then quickly lifted his gaze to again meet the Prime's.

"Then it will be an honor to call myself an Autobot." He hesitated. "I shall look forward to the orn when I have earned that right."

Optimus continued to study him for another handful of astroseconds then nodded, and his faceplates softened. It was the first time Prowl had experienced that warmth directed toward him. "Likewise, it will be an honor to have you as one of us."


	27. Inception

_First, I want to apologize for the delay. Fear not, it was in no way a waning interest in the story that caused that delay. I suffered a pinched nerve between my shoulders that made it excruciating to type… spent a week not being able to lift my arms much at all. Ugh! I really, really don't want to go through that again. But I'm back and here is the next update. _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Optimus watched Prowl's almost stony expression and was privileged to witness that careful control thaw into an almost awed relief. It was then that Optimus realized the Praxian had never before dared to let down his guard to that extent – as small as it was – in his presence. Not that he could blame the doorwinged mech. Not at all. And the Prime chose to interpret that new development as a positive one.

When Prowl canted his helm a fraction in a silent question, probably reading something of Optimus' thoughts in his face, Optimus opened his mouth to answer the unspoken question when he received a ping on his internal communications system.

With a quick gesture to the tactician to indicate he was replying to a comm. message, Optimus accessed the signal. _/This is Optimus/_

_/Prime…/_ Blaster's digital voice was openly troubled. _/I think you should come to the Command Center. We have received a communiqué from Megatron./_

Optimus felt his face grow more tense and could not miss how Prowl also tensed in response, becoming cautious and guarded again. He would have to deal with that later. _/A live message or a recording?/_

_/A recording, sir./_ Blaster informed him. _/But this one was encrypted./_

That _was_ different. Usually his brother's messages, intended as morale crushers and propaganda, were transmitted indiscriminately into Autobot territory in an almost reckless desire to get as many Autobots and Neutrals as possible to see them.

But this one was encrypted, likely intended only for his optics. Interesting.

Optimus found himself considering the former Decepticon again, as his processor mulled over the possible reasons for the change. It could be no coincidence that this message came only the orn after the first real Autobot victory in the entire length of the war. Observant as always, Optimus could not help but detect the Praxian's increasing nervousness at his renewed perusal.

Considering what the mech had so recently experienced at their hands, Optimus could hardly fault him. And yet Prowl continued to stand there, silently expectant, waiting for him to make the next move. It spoke almost as much of Prowl's character as how he had handled the many things he had suffered.

Unable to stop the almost bemused expression that claimed his face-plate, he gestured Prowl to follow, turning toward the training room exit. "Come, this should be interesting, and doubtlessly has to do with you."

Prowl frowned in consternation. "Sir?"

Optimus just allowed the smile that was threatening to find purchase on his face to show itself as he turned, repeating gently. "Come."

Quite unsurprisingly, though he was clearly unsure what was going on, Prowl hastened to fall into step a respectable distance behind him. He was close enough to allow easy communication but he also ensured there was just enough distance to make it clear he was not presuming any collegial relationship with the Prime. A purposeful social statement that Optimus would not have demanded, seeing as Prowl _had_ assumed the role of his Circuit Su instructor. Most mechs would have jumped at the opportunity to elevate their own social standing, but Prowl was deliberately avoiding such behavior.

He let a passive scanner run over the mech who was now following him dutifully and could see the subtle hints that the Praxian was anxious.

Interestingly the tactician did not question him further, though he did blink in surprise as Optimus took him to the command level. The Prime also heard a momentary hitch in Prowl's vents as he stepped into the Command Center just behind him.

Of course, Prowl had never been to the Command Center itself. Optimus was impressed that Prowl restrained himself from looking around curiously, though he had no doubt that the mech's doorwings were taking in a large quantity of information, making a visual survey rather redundant.

Nor did it escape the Prime's notice that more than a handful of the mechs stationed in the Command Center reacted with equal nervousness to the former Decepticon's presence. Having schooled himself into a mask of professional coolness however, Prowl did not react to the nervous glances cast his way as he silently followed Optimus to the primary consul located in the front of the chamber. In a strange way, Optimus was struck with the sudden sensation that Prowl _belonged_ there. Not just in the Command Center, but also next to him.

The feeling was so sudden and unexpected, and also so _strong_ that it caught him completely off guard, leaving the Prime a touch shaken.

In all his experience with the Matrix, as admittedly brief as that might be in the grand scheme of Cybertronian history, he had never experienced such a powerful impression from it. It clinched the idea he had been contemplating since Prowl had declared the change in the parameters of his loyalty and his willingness to declare his allegiance to the Autobots. It would not be easy and was not something that would happen quickly, but he knew the first step, and what the Matrix was telling him settled his decision to carry it out sooner rather than later.

But there was something important he had to deal with first. Suppressing a gentle shake of his helm, knowing the gesture would be misunderstood by those around him, Optimus focused back on the immediate task before him.

Optimus looked at the communications specialist. "Blaster, have you decoded the transmission?"

"Of course sir." Blaster responded smartly, almost as if affronted that his abilities would be in doubt.

Optimus was in no way offended by his officer's attitude, and hid his amused smile and nodded seriously. "Then play Megatron's message on the main screen."

Blaster cast a wary glance at Prowl but replied in professionally clipped tones. "Yes, sir."

Within astrosceconds, Megatron's snarling visage materialized on the primary screen. The corner of his lip plate tipped up in a nasty sneer as his gravelly base tone filled the Command Center. "Well played, Optimus. I didn't think that pathetic scrapheap you call an army had it in them to pull off _two_ assaults simultaneously."

That half sneer turned into a full one. "But don't worry, this is but a temporary set back in our efforts to send your kind to oblivion." If were even possible, Megatron's voice deepened as his rage threatened to overcome his thin veneer of civility. "There is only _one_ way you could have pulled something like that off."

A low menacing growl wove through the former Lord Protector's next words. "You have something that belongs to _me_!"

Then, as if suddenly regaining control, Megatron leaned back, though his dark ruby optics blazed heatedly. "I have received the reports of my spy in your ranks and your temporary pushback against us has only confirmed the accuracy of those reports. The _traitor_, Prowl, is mine."

Though Prowl did not respond outwardly to those words, Optimus knew his were not the only set of optics that darted to the tactician. It was as if Prowl was forcing himself to maintain a neutral mask as he continued to watch the transmission without open reaction. Even so, Optimus was not so blind as to miss the tightness around the Praxian's optics, or the way his vents were flared minutely, let alone the very faint twitch of his doorwings.

Megatron continued, his voice dark and low, promising all manner of violence. "I want him back, Optimus, and I _will_ get what is mine. Save your puny little underlings and hand him over nicely or I will get him by force. If I have to do that, I promise that innocent energon _will_ be on _your_ hands!"

The image snapped off.

Optimus released a huff of air through his vents, both depressed and gratified that his prediction as to the nature of that transmission was correct. He had wondered when Megatron would become aware of Prowl's defection, apparently it took something dramatic to make him even notice.

Optimus turned to look at Prowl fully, intending to ask for his thoughts, only to find that the Praxian was continuing to stare at the now blank screen, his optics narrowed and unfocused. He was analyzing, Optimus realized; calculating, weighing the evidence.

For a long breem, Optimus said nothing, he just watched Prowl as the tactician worked within the silent confines of his own processor, not wanting to interrupt. Because he was watching closely, Optimus caught the moment Prowl's analysis moved from professional to private contemplation.

"Prowl?" He asked softly, not wanting to startle the smaller mech.

Prowl answered slowly, his gaze still a touch unfocused and he leaned his weight back to cross his arms over his chassis. "He is manipulating you, Prime." There was absolute confidence in Prowl's tone and demeanor as he shifted his gaze to meet Optimus'. "While I cannot say he will not carry through with some sort of assault in an effort to capture me, I can confidently state it is his goal to eventually extinguish every one of the lives he is currently trying to use as leverage against you."

Optimus nodded, unsurprised even if it was painful to admit. "I would expect as much."

Prowl regarded him silently for a brief moment and Optimus wondered if the other mech had picked up on that pain he strove to keep hidden every time he was confronted with the depths of depravity his brother had descended into.

Regardless, Prowl opted to continue without comment or speculation on the matter. "If Barricade's report made it to Megatron's headquarters in Kaon, we can only assume he knows I am here in Iacon."

"What do you think he will do?" Optimus asked softly.

Prowl grimaced. "That depends on how much his anger is overriding his logic centers. The logical course would be to try and take me in the field. The illogical – but definitely not improbable choice – would be an assault here on Iacon." Prowl shook his helm. "But there are multiple avenues he could attempt and the longer he delays, the more thought out it will be. Unfortunately there is not enough data from that message alone to provide any additional insight."

Optimus was quietly pleased when Prowl did not immediately feel the need to apologize for not being able to do more. But then he saw the smaller mech's optics widen with shocked horror as he stiffened perceptibly and immediately dropped his gaze to the floor. It was as if…

Optimus felt his own vent's hitch painfully as he realized what he was seeing in the former Decepticon. It was distressing that Prowl had no reason to expect differently. The Praxian had spoken under the presumption that he would _not_ be handed over to Megatron. It was as if he had not given that assumption a second thought until he was well into his verbal analysis and then had suddenly second-guessed that assumption. Painful as it was to admit, Optimus was well aware he had not yet given the former Enforcer definite assurances in that regard.

It was time to change that.

Optimus straightened and turned to face Prowl more fully and was shaken to his core when Prowl's only response was to duck his chin fractionally and set his doorwings in a respectful, semi-submissive posture. He knew then Prowl would not fight his decision, regardless of how detrimental it was to him personally.

It was that fact in conjunction with the earlier impression from the Matrix that completely solidified the rightness of trusting Prowl's defection; his change of spark and loyalty.

"Prowl…" Though he spoke softly, Prowl flinched minutely. Optimus did not continue until the tactician had lifted his own, resigned amber gaze to his. "Your life is not a bargaining chip. I will not attempt to purchase one life with another. Even if you were a prisoner in our brig, I would not consign you to the fate we all know would await you at his hands. Especially when there is no guarantee his threat will ever result in another life being lost."

Prowl's carefully neutral expression did not change, his voice equally devoid of inflection. "He will not sit quietly and do nothing, Prime. He will seek to avenge my defection."

"Indeed." Optimus agreed easily. "But I believe we have a better chance of defeating that attack with you where you belong; here in Iacon."

It seemed to take an astrosecond for the meaning of those words to sink in, but Optimus could see the moment they did as that ineffable tension suddenly relaxed. Prowl's doorwings dipped minutely as if whatever had been holding them still suddenly let go.

The Praxian released a vent of air. "I appreciate that, Prime."

Optimus smiled faintly. "We will see what intelligence Jazz has or will be able to obtain on the matter." When Prowl's helm dipped almost imperceptibly, Optimus allowed himself to consider his next move.

It would be sudden, perhaps, but he firmly believed it was the right thing to do.

He sent three separate databursts to his most trusted officers, telling them his intentions and what he wanted from them. While Ironhide protested nominally, even he was not as opposed as Optimus had expected. The other two offered nothing more than confirming acknowledgements of the transmission.

Optimus refocused back on Prowl, though in truth the digital 'conversations' had only taken a brief handful of astroseconds. "Until then, there is something you and I must attend to. Come."

Clearly caught off guard once more, Prowl stiffened but mutely followed Optimus from the Command Center. It might have been a touch cruel to not give Prowl any advanced warning, but Optimus wanted his officers to see his reaction without the filter of foreknowledge.

… … …

Prowl followed the Prime from the Command Center, once again being careful to maintain the proper distance between them. He did not know what was expected of him, and that made him nervous, though he diligently sought to prevent any evidence of that anxiety from showing. Optimus had promised that he would not be handed over to Megatron, he seriously doubted whatever he was walking into now would be intentionally detrimental for him.

Prowl's doorwing's twitched at that thought. It was the first time he had allowed himself to honestly believe another's motivations were not harmful toward him. At least since he had joined the Decepticons.

Truly it would be...pleasant… to be part of a command structure where he was not constantly having to watch out for the hidden agendas of others. To be able to actually _trust_ those whom he called his commanders, those who had power over his life.

When they entered the med bay, however, Prowl was tempted to doubt all the comforting conclusions he had let himself develop regarding his immediate future. Especially when he saw that Ironhide, Ratchet and Jazz were there, clearly expecting their arrival.

No. Prowl had made the decision to trust Optimus. He _would_ do so until that trust was actually broken.

When Prowl hesitated a microsecond in the doorway, Optimus leaned down, speaking quietly. "I know you are not one to enjoy a great deal of fanfare, but protocol and custom do require two witnesses for this."

Prowl's alarm flared briefly until he looked up into Optimus' kind optics. They were lit with a warm cerulean fire that was, while tranquil and determined, also a touch excited and pleased. It was not logical that the processor behind such an expression could intend him harm.

Drawing in a deep vent of air, Prowl straightened minutely, setting his doorwings into a politely formal posture as he watched Optimus greet each of the other three Autobots with tiny acknowledging nods.

Then all four focused back on him, the sudden attention – though none of it was immediately hostile – made Prowl stiffen.

However, Optimus spoke before his apprehension could grow, his tone was that of something being spoken for a legal record. At first that fact only made his alarm spike, until the words being spoken by the Prime fully registered.

"Prowl, you have chosen to become and Autobot, to follow a path quite different from the one you have walked as a Decepticon. You have already taken steps to do so, even to your own detriment. However, I would now like to hear a statement of your commitment from you, in your own words."

The expectant silence rang loudly between them and it took almost three astroseconds for Prowl to both fully comprehend what was being asked of him and the full significance of what was about to happen.

The suddenness of it all made his vents stall and he had to clear them. Even so, he lowered his gaze, contemplating his answer. The Prime _was_ speaking for a legal record: his.

Had he been looking at the others, he would have seen the Prime was pleased, that Jazz was smirking minutely, that Ratchet was a touch bemused but also carefully neutral and that Ironhide was actually a hint impressed. No one was surprised at his thoughtful reaction.

Quickly overcoming his initial surprise and rising to the occasion, as was his nature, Prowl lifted his gaze back to the Prime. Unbeknownst to the Praxian, while he allowed his convictions to rise in his spark, the strength of his own, well-hidden, personality broke through the mask of control he had maintained. It filled his armor, giving those watching him a hint of who he might become. A hint of who he truly was.

Prowl continued to meet the Prime's optics with his own as he spoke, well aware that his words would be legally binding as well as binding through his own ethical coding. "Optimus Prime, you are aware of the decisions I have made within the last decavorn as a Decepticon. I… cannot hope that anything I can do will make up for the harm I have done while serving under Megatron's command."

He straightened a fraction more. "All that I _can_ do is give my solemn vow that from this orn forward, protecting not only the value of life but the rights belonging to all individuals will be my highest priority and my greatest mission. This is in adherence to my core programming as an Enforcer. Towards that end, I will join the Autobot cause and pledge to adhere to Autobot protocols and all legal orders of those placed above me in the chain of command." He hesitated half a spark beat. "Until all are one."

It was a modified version of the oath of office he had taken upon assuming his post with the Praxian Enforcer Corps. He waited to see the Prime's reaction

"Until all are one." Optimus murmured softly, accepting his oath.

It was not the swearing of blind fealty but was in accordance with what he had told the Prime in the training room. His careful phrasing allowed him an out from absolute obedience should Optimus, or the Autobots in general, loose their way ethically. And they both knew his ethical programming would hold him to that vow.

A warm smile was slowly spreading over Optimus Prime's faceplate, as if he was actually pleased that Prowl had maintained that strict objectivity. The tactician had no way of knowing that Optimus was, in fact, relieved to know that at least one mech would.

Breaking the silent contact, Optimus glanced at the CMO. "Ratchet?"

Ratchet stepped forward, toward Prowl, and lifted a device Prowl was very familiar with. Thus, instead of looking at the device, Prowl looked at the medic who was wielding it. He had known it was inevitable that he would receive the Autobot insignia once he gave his oath. It appeared that part of the ceremony also required witnesses. It had not been so with the Decepticons.

Prowl came to attention as Ratchet neared, waiting silently as the CMO circled to stand directly in front of him. Nor did he even wince as Ratchet pressed the device against the central armor plate covering his upper chassis, right over his spark chamber.

Beneath the hot iron, white paint boiled and sizzled. Once the paint was gone, leaving bare the living metal underneath, microscopic pores in the brand opened, releasing a very specific chemical mixture that started to bond instantly with the exposed, quickly heating metal. The chemical insured that the metal would be permanently colored red once it cooled.

While he might say the procedure stung, Prowl would not go so far as to say it actually hurt.

Ratchet, skilled medic that he was, knew right when Prowl's armor had reached the precise temperature necessary to ensure a permanent bond with the chemical. At that moment, the branding device was removed. The CMO also had a steady hand, evidenced by the fact that the lines were crisp and clean, the embossed image just the appropriate depth.

Prowl could not help it then. He glanced down at his chassis to look at the red symbol now cooling on his frame. This was not a moment he had expected to see for a very long time.

Ironhide broke the moment by snorting ineloquently. "Well. I never would have seen this coming. At least you're on our side now."

Jazz brushed off Ironhide's brusque words with seemingly practiced ease. "Didn't your creator ever say 'never say never'?" His optics were glinting under his visor. "Welcome aboard Prowler. 'Bout time."

Prowl felt his optic ridge quirk at the nickname but felt it was not appropriate to correct the saboteur in this setting. "Thank you, Jazz."

"I agree." Optimus' words recalled his attention to the Autobot leader. His leader.

The Prime's tone took on a slightly more warning edge as he continued and Prowl ducked his doorwings appropriately. "I must impress upon you, however, that this does not mean you will be universally trusted within Autobot ranks. That may yet take a great deal of time. The other members of my command staff and I are privy to a great deal more information about you than the rank and file and even in that arena it will take time."

"Understood, Prime." Prowl dipped his helm. "I would not make such a presumption in any case."

To his relief, Optimus nodded, accepting his statement and clearly not feeling the need to press the issue.

Jazz grinned suddenly. "Hey. At least this means ya don't have ta worry 'bout me having to scan ya again."

Ratchet and Ironhide winced faintly at the seemingly carefree tone in the statement and Optimus frowned at the saboteur in a mild rebuke. The fragmentation of Prowl's processor at Jazz's hands was still a recent and painfully shameful memory for them.

Prowl, however _was_ able to cross-reference the silver mech's tone, his expression and the flippant choice of words and recognized the comment for what it was. He allowed the tinniest hint of a smile to briefly grace his own lip plates. "There is that."

Jazz startled, his mouth hanging slightly agape for a couple of astroseconds. "Did… did you just make a joke?"

Prowl did not quite smirk back, though he did let his doorwings settle into a carefully respectful posture so as not to come across as to brazen. He looked back at the Prime. "Sir, I would recommend bolstering Iacon's ground recognizance patrols in addition to gathering intelligence on what ever Megatron may be planning. I predict he will try to act before the end of the vorn. If his first plan fails, he will likely retreat easily and attempt to more carefully plan another approach. Given enough time, his obsession with capturing me will fall into the background as the war reclaims his attention. In the mean time, it would be best if…"

Prowl fell silent with an audible hiss of static from his vocalizer as he realized all four of the senior Autobots were staring at him and that the Prime's expression was now hidden behind his battle mask.

Recognizing what he had just done – a junior, non-ranked tactician acting and speaking as freely as if he were a trusted advisor – Prowl's systems heated. He had allowed Jazz's companionable ribbing to lure him into a place of premature congeniality.

Horrified at his carelessness, Prowl dipped his doorwings, his optics falling all the way to the floor as he bowed his helm. "Forgive me, Prime. I did not mean to overstep."

Considering the Prime was keeping his battle mask in place, Prowl was surprised that his words were bemused rather than angered. "I will keep your warnings in mind, Prowl. First shift, report to your department and brief Smokescreen of the situation. He will take it from there."

Prowl relaxed slightly. Follow the chain of command, that was what he was being told to do. It was a kind reminder as well as a gentle reproof. Not at all the reaction Megatron would have had. Nor was it the reaction Prowl had half expected.

He straightened, accepting the kind rebuke as a soldier would, not as a prisoner, and came to attention. "Yes sir." He paused. "By your leave, sir?"

"Of course." Was the gentle dismissal.

"Not so fast!" Ratchet snapped at him, then looked at the Prime. "What about his combat systems? His weapons? His long distance communications? His subspace controls? His faction ID?"

Optimus lifted his chin a fraction, though the saboteur and weapon specialist exchanged almost hesitant looks with each other.

Believing he understood their reticence, Prowl spoke softly. "I have no need of combat or weapons systems to fulfill my assigned duties. Likewise long distance communications is also not an absolute necessity. And, while having access to my subspace storage would be nice, I have managed this far without it. Do not feel the need to alter the status quo further at this point."

The Prime relaxed then, looking at Ratchet. "Give him access to his subspace and his combat systems." He looked at Prowl almost apologetic. "Once the others have grown used to _this _change, we can add the other two systems."

Prowl indicated his acknowledgement even as Ratchet stepped back up to him, reaching for the controls at the base of his neck. A moment later his combat systems whirred to life, reintegrating seamlessly into the rest of his programming. Because of his Circuit Su training, he was not as dependent on those systems to be able to fight and so their re-initialization was not as dramatic a change as it would have been for another mech.

Ratchet circled back in front of him, looking him up and down with critical optics. "We'll reconnect your subspace systems while you are sedated for your optic implantation and faction ID modification."

Prowl released a shallow vent of air, relieved that he would not have to endure _those_ procedures while conscious, even with his ingrained aversion to allowing himself to be offlined. "Much appreciated, Ratchet."

Recognizing the medic's temporary dismissal, Prowl turned back to the Prime. "Thank you, sir."

The Praxian had taken several steps when Ratchet called back to him, sudden mischievousness tweaking the edge of his voice. "Prowl… First Aid has not had a great deal of experience implanting optics, or with ID modification."

Prowl paused and suddenly, quite unexpectedly, felt an odd sense of kinship with the chartreuse medic. The kinship that comes with shared experiences. In this case the shared experience of intentionally creating teachable moments for an apprentice. Prowl had done that on several occasions for Smokescreen and recognized what Ratchet was doing now. He understood and was more than willing to assist.

He turned back to the medic, completely unaware that his epiphany had caused his optics to flicker with an amused gleam. "When will you be ready?"

Ratchet grinned, clearly not surprised to have the Praxian's tacit cooperation in his scheme. "By the end of this orn. Actually, three or four joors at most."

The corner of Prowl's lip plates quirked as he considered the medic a moment longer, matching the glint in Ratchet's optics. "Then I hope First Aid is ready by then as well." He looked at Optimus and bowed. "Prime."

The four mechs watched him leave in silence after that.

Jazz broke it first, looking at Ratchet incredulously. "First Aid? For his optics? Really?"

Ratchet shrugged though he was unable to hide a hint of smugness at what he and Prowl had just schemed. "First Aid has had a hand in all of Prowl's repairs since his first patrol with the Twins. By Prowl's own choice, as you just saw. The mech seems to have no problem letting First Aid get as much experience as possible." The medic shot a brief glare at Ironhide. "Primus knows not many _others_ will let him handle the delicate areas. I'd be a fool not to take advantage of it."

Jazz thought for a moment and then shrugged, looking back at the door Prowl had just left through. "Does First Aid know about this?"

Now Ratchet's smirk was open. "Not yet."

Ironhide shook his head at them and looked back at the Prime, frowning slightly. "He was rather bold, speaking really freely just then."

Optimus nodded, knowing where his weapon specialist's concern stemmed from. "Do not blame him. I had encouraged him to do so earlier." He smiled gently. "He caught himself and did not seek to press his point."

"Still…" Ironhide seemed more uncomfortable than truly disgruntled.

Optimus shook his helm, cutting the black mech off. "Prowl will not be a junior tactician for long, my friend."

With that, Optimus took his own leave of the med bay. Behind him, Jazz smirked again, Ratchet seemed nonplussed and Ironhide released a noncommittal sigh of air.

… … …

Prowl was granted entry to Chromia and Ironhide's quarters. It was the first time he was actually allowed past the threshold and it surprised him that simply making his allegiance official would have that much of an impact. Or perhaps he was misreading the situation. He was never quite sure when Chromia was involved.

Regardless, he was intensely curious about the living arrangements in which his young ward spent most of his time, especially when he was away on missions. Even so, he endeavored not to look around too much, not wanting to appear unseemly. Their quarters were a good deal larger than his own, with the recharging area segregated into another chamber, as was a private wash rack. Not that uncommon for a bonded pair, especially one as high ranking as the weapon specialist.

Likewise, the quarters were clean and well kept and while minimally furnished, were nothing like the sparse nature of his own.

Bluestreak came in from yet another adjoining room at the sound of their entry and then hurried up to him, almost bouncing on his pedes.

"Prowl! You're here early, well earlier than you usually are. Is everything alright? You weren't injured were you? But you had the orn off, so you shouldn't be injured. But you are early so _something_ had to happen. Is everything alright?"

Prowl put a gentle hand on Bluestreak's helm. "Everything is alright, Bluestreak. I…"

But Bluestreak interrupted in his clearly mounting excitement, having noticed the new brand on his chassis. "That's an Autobot symbol! You didn't have that before. You had the purple Decepticon one. Does… does that mean you are an Autobot now? That is really neat! Maybe others will be nice to you now and that would be really good. Can I see it?"

Prowl hid most of an amused smile as he glanced at Chromia. She looked like she was desperately trying not to laugh outright, though there was still an air of wariness about her.

Deciding not to worry about the femme for the moment, Prowl nodded, lowering himself to Bluestreak's level. "Of course."

Bluestreak reached toward him, small hands gently splaying over the edges of the newly embossed mark as he investigated it closely. Then his helm snapped up, his face alight with a bright grin. "Oooh, I think it looks really, really good. It's the same color as your chevron too, and that is just neat that it worked out like that."

As he was rambling on, the smaller black and yellow sparkling who had followed Bluestreak, timidly continued to edge closer. By the time Bluestreak paused, Bumblebee was well within the boundaries of Prowl's personal space. The Praxian grew more uncomfortable at the younger sparkling's proximity, primarily because he felt Chromia tense watchfully.

However, Bumblebee did not seem to notice, he was watching Bluestreak instead, at how confidently he interacted with his guardian and then he too looked up at Prowl. Golden optics met impossibly young sapphire ones for a brief second and then Bumblebee suddenly reached out to caress the new red image on Prowl's chassis in a mirroring gesture to what Bluestreak had done.

Prowl froze as he heard Chromia's sharp intake of air and the warning rev of her engine. He was not about to underestimate the potentially overprotective nature of guardian subroutines.

But Bumblebee simply pat the mark gently and trilled happily, looking up at Prowl to trill again. Then he pointed to the brand and then up at Chromia and let out a series of beeps and clicks.

"Yes." Prowl confirmed quietly, still afraid to move least Chromia misjudge his actions and attempt to defend her young charge. "I am now officially an Autobot, part of the same faction as your guardians, Bumblebee."

Bumblebee trilled happily, then looked at Bluestreak and trilled again, though in faint accusation, pointing at Prowl.

Bluestreak shook his helm, though his smile never waivered. "He didn't have one before because the grownups around here didn't trust him. But if they put their symbol on him it must mean they're finally trusting him…" The youngling paused, suddenly unsure, and looked up at Prowl. "Doesn't it?"

Prowl did not answer immediately, glancing up at Chromia, taking in her clearly wary expression and the tense line of her armor as her charge remained in such close proximity to him. "More so than before, Bluestreak." He responded, looking back at the younglings. "But not completely."

Bluestreak deflated visibly. "Oh." Then he perked up again. "Well, something is better than nothing I guess. I mean it must be better now."

Prowl felt Ironhide's approach on his sensory wings as Bluestreak started and was thus not surprised when Ironhide stepped into the room.

He did not expect the larger mech's comment on the youngling's statement. "Yes, Bluestreak, it is definitely better now."

Prowl stood slowly as Bumblebee scampered over to his mech guardian and launched himself at the hulking black mech to scramble over his frame in much the same way Bluestreak had done with him. The image, accompanied by the startlingly tender sound of a gentle croon coming from the weapon specialist's engine _almost_ made Prowl smile even as it sent a stab of pain through his processors.

Cerulean optics met Prowl's golden gaze for a moment and Prowl had the distinct impression that Ironhide had a lot he wanted to say but clearly did not even know how to begin. After several seconds, Ironhide broke off the contact to look down at Bluestreak.

"Have you showed Prowl your project yet?"

"Oooh!" He looked up at Prowl, bouncing lightly in his excitement. "I forgot. Don't go anywhere."

Then he was gone, darting back into the room he had come from earlier. Prowl glanced up at Ironhide in silent question.

Ironhide's optics merely twinkled in smug amusement. Bluestreak's elated trill as he returned, accompanied by a rapid-fire, verbal torrent about how much fun it was to assemble, drew his attention back down to the youngling.

There, clasped gently his little hands was an appropriately sized laser riffle. Prowl recognized it as the type of weapon younglings routinely practiced with when they started learning how to fight. But there was something different about it.

"May, I?" He asked, kneeling again to be at Bluestreak's level as the sparkling handed the small weapon to him with an excited nod.

Carefully, Prowl turned the rifle around in his hands, examining it closely. The workmanship that had gone into creating it was spectacular.

"Right now it can only fire low-powered laser, so it won't really hurt anything, but he can learn to use it." Ironhide explained, pride clear in his voice. "It isn't standard stock in that as he matures _that_ rifle can be adapted and upgraded to become whatever he wants it to be. We can exchange the power pack, the barrel, the control interface. The options are almost endless, that thing could be turned into the ultimate snipers weapon some orn if he wishes to. Or it could just serve as a reliable, basic-level front line weapon."

Prowl nodded, seeing the areas of the weapon's frame that would accommodate such changes, including where it could actually become an integrated weapon at a later date when Bluestreak had an adult frame that could accommodate such a weapon. "Impressive."

"Ironhide actually let me do some of the work, but he did most of it. The delicate stuff at least, but I helped shape the barrel. See, I even signed it!" A little finger pointed to the appropriate etchings.

Prowl looked at his charge and allowed himself to smile. "Very nice, Bluestreak."

"Are you going to teach me to shoot?" Bluestreak asked, hopeful expectation clear in his optics.

Prowl blinked, he had assumed Ironhide had intended to take that role as well, seeing as he had helped construct the weapon in the first place. But Ironhide simply grinned. "The little one said he wanted something he could do with you and since a mech has to be in his adult frame before learning Circuit Su, or Diffusion or any of that un-armed stuff, this seemed like as good a thing as any."

Of course it would to a mech whose life was dedicated to the art and construction of such weapons. But Bluestreak seemed more enthused than he had ever seen the little mech before and that made it easy for Prowl to agree. "Of course I will teach you, Bluestreak."

"Great!" Bluestreak beamed, then took his hand. "Let's go! Bye Bumblebee, Bye Chromia, Bye Ironhide!"

The two adults chuckled softly as Prowl was pulled toward the door. Bumblebee warbled at his friend then looked at Prowl and hesitantly warbled a farewell to him as well.

Allowing his lip plate to twitch upward into a brief smile, Prowl released a shallow vent. "Farewell, Bumblebee."

But that was all he had time for as Bluestreak continued for the door, his one-sidded dialogue starting up again as soon as it closed. "I know its too late in the orn to go to the training range now, but Ironhide said that he had a setting on this thing that will let me practice aming it without having to worry about actually firing it, that way I can work on my aim and then check how good I'm getting. Maybe we can do that tonight and then when you get off work tomorrow we can go by the training range and actually fire it. This is going to be so much fun. Ironhide said you were a good shot and would be able to teach me how to fire well. But then he said that snipers have the best shot of them all, and that sounds like it will take a lot of work. I don't really know what a sniper is, but if they are the best at what they do, then I want to be the best too…"

Prowl smiled, feeling like he was going to have his work cut out for him. He doubted Bluestreak would settle for anything less than perfection.

… … …

As Prowl had anticipated, Bluestreak was very much the perfectionist. And very inquisitive. All the same, he took to Prowl's initial safety instruction very seriously and with a maturity that made it imperative that he speak to Ratchet as quickly as possible. When he had his new optics implanted, perhaps, Prowl decided.

He nodded warmly as Bluestreak finished successfully breaking the weapon apart and then reassembling it correctly.

"I did it in under two breems, that time Prowl." Bluestreak beamed up at him.

"Indeed." Prowl agreed. "You have made outstanding progress."

"Thank you." Bluestreak answered with all seriousness sounding older than his frame, then his faceplate contorted as much as it was able. "I think my tanks need more energon again."

Prowl was about to answer when he received a ping on his communication system. _/Prowl, this is Ratchet. Report to med bay./_

Prowl blinked his optic shutters and gestured to Bluestreak to wait as he answered the CMO. _/Yes sir. What about Bluestreak?/_

_/Jazz will be there shortly. An optic exchange is tricky enough work I don't want to have to worry about a youngling underpede…/_

Even as the medic spoke, Jazz's spark signature registered on his scanners. _/Understood. I believe he is here now./_

_/Then I shall expect you shortly./_

The signal cut off just before Jazz sauntered through Prowl's door. Though he was officially an Autobot now, the fact that his weapons and communications systems remained locked down made Prowl believe his probation was not truly over. Thus he chose not to act as though it were and was why he accepted the continued lack of privacy.

Bluestreak sprung from his seat at the table to run up to Jazz, taking one of the silver mech's hands and pulling him to the table. "Look what Ironhide made for me, he even let me help. Isn't it wonderful? It's perfect! Prowl is going to teach me how to shoot tomorrow, if we have time."

"Wow, that's a mighty-fine weapon ya have there." Jazz grinned down at him and then looked at Prowl. "I think you have someplace you gotta be? Volunteered to come watch lil' Blue for ya."

"My thanks, Jazz." Prowl glanced briefly down at Bluestreak and then back at the saboteur. "Bluestreak had just requested an additional ration of energon, would you mind taking him to the rec room to procure some?"

"Of course." Jazz swung the hand Bluestreak still clung to, though he commed Prowl. _/An __**additional**__ ration?/_

_/Yes./_ Prowl replied over the same frequency, though verbally he gave Bluestreak a gentle farewell, assuring him he would return shortly and not to worry. _/I will address the issue with Ratchet while I am in med bay./_

Jazz nodded easily and Prowl took his leave.

When Prowl made it to the med bay, he was greeted by First Aid. The junior medic glanced briefly at his new faction symbol and then smiled, relaxing palpably, which surprised Prowl. He had thought the younger medic was comfortable with him, but apparently First Aid had still been struggling to overcome innate concern over his former allegiances.

"Ratchet said you'd be here for your new optics." First Aid gave him a genuine smile.

Prowl nodded, quirking and optic ridge. "Ratchet also said you were looking forward to performing the procedure, as well as modifying my faction ID and enabling my subspace controls."

First Aid's frame heated as his vents stuttered in obvious irritation. "Um… he didn't need to do that. I…"

When he looked down, clearly flustered, Prowl took an educated guess as to what the problem was, knowing how most mechs felt about the issue. "Have you replaced optics before?"

First Aid blinked at the non-judgmental nature of the question. Then he released a sigh of air through his vents, completely unaware that Ratchet was observing them discretely from the door of his office. "Yes I have, but it has only been when someone has lost an optic in battle. See… it isn't the putting a new optic in that Ratchet wants me to get experience with, it's the taking your current optics _out_. That and changing your faction ID."

Prowl nodded his understanding. "I see. I am confident you will do well."

First Aid gave him a nervous smile. "I hope so, I mean… it's your optics…"

Prowl was then able to recognize what First Aid's real problem was. He straightened. "First Aid."

The young medic froze at the tone in Prowl's voice. It was a tone he had never heard from the Praxian before; the voice of one used to commanding mechs and one that demanded respect without being demanding. It seemed surprisingly natural for the black and white tactician.

Seeing as he had First Aid's complete attention, Prowl continued more gently though with no less strength behind his words. "I am a Praxian with sensory doorwings. What do you know of my frame type in regards to our dependence on sensory data verse optical?"

Both mechs were so focused, neither noticed the faint smirk form on Ratchet's lip plates as First Aid quickly rattled off an answer as if reciting a text file; like a first year medical student would. "The sensory information provided by your doorwings is far more acute than what your optics can generate. Therefore, they are your primary sensory organ of choice. It is part of what makes them so sensitive to damage and… Oh."

First Aid's optics widened as he stumbled to a halt and focused back on Prowl. Then he smiled, shoulder plating shifting with the release of tension.

The Praxian nodded, seeing that First Aid understood, "Yes. I have already trusted you to work on my doorwings, First Aid. I have no qualms about letting you do this. Any of it."

First Aid blinked again and then his vents flared with a relieved intake of air. "Thank you."

Ratchet chose that moment to intervene, stepping closer. "Alright. Get your aft over here, Prowl."

First Aid started visibly at the sudden verbal intrusion then scurried away to get the equipment they would need. Prowl obediently walked to the berth Ratchet pointed him to, releasing a sigh of air through his own vents, finding he was suddenly more trepidatious. Or rather, it was not so suddenly, only that the nervousness he had been able to push aside in favor of dealing with other issues suddenly had nothing to buffer it.

Ratchet was evaluating him critically as he climbed onto the berth. "You sound more confident than you really are. If you would prefer…"

Prowl quickly shook his helm. "It is not First Aid's ability to perform the optic exchange that troubles me." Prowl forced himself to meet the CMO's gaze, suspecting he might not respond well to what he was about to say. "In my experience, allowing myself to be offlined is seldom a good idea."

Ratchet stared at him and then a low irritated growl rumbled from his engine. "I've told you, I am _not_ a Decepticon butcher. Neither of us are." A yellow face suddenly loomed closer. "If we were, you'd already be dismantled for what you did as one of _them."_

Prowl could not stop himself from flinching away, though he stopped the movement before it got further than his doorwings. He lowered his gaze, not wanting to anger the medic further. "I know. I mean no offense. But you understand ingrained thought patters are hard to break."

Ratchet gave a noncommittal huff of air, though he did relax from his borderline threatening posture. "Then you should be able to appreciate what he is going through to work on you."

"Yes." Prowl answered quietly, looking at First Aid as he continued to rummage through a supply cabinet. "I can."

"Indeed." Ratchet lowered his voice so that only Prowl could hear. "He is a skilled medic and a very quick study. One of the most talented apprentices I have ever had. But he has very little confidence at all."

Prowl looked back at the CMO, matching his low volume. "He is young. I am certain he will gain confidence in time."

"You will have been a great help in that." Ratchet stated rather matter-of-factly, then he straightened.

Prowl eyed the medic, not expecting such an expression of gratitude. Then he dipped his helm slightly but said nothing as First Aid was approaching.

Completely unaware of Prowl's private conversation with his mentor, First Aid helped the tactician recline on the berth and smiled warmly down at him. For some reason, Prowl found that actually helped ease his lingering, deeply ingrained fears as he realized he actually trusted the mech about to work on him not to intentionally cause harm.

"Did you have a particular shade or hue you wished your optics set to?" The young medic asked, kindly and with more sureness than he had demonstrated just a breem earlier.

Prowl blinked, not having anticipated being given such a choice. Not that it truly mattered to him; he was not the one having to look at his own optics, so long as they were appropriate for his faction. "Not particularly, First Aid. Feel free to choose whatever hue you feel is appropriate."

First Aid stared at him for a moment and then nodded

A moment later blackness claimed him.

… … …

When he onlined some time later, Prowl automatically ran a security and history check of all his systems. The first thing he noticed was that his faction modulator was now transmitting an Autobot IFF. He took a nanosecond to appreciate the change. Then his subspace systems registered as online during his normal boot up cycle, yet another pleasant alteration. Everything else came back as expected. The medics had done their work and nothing improper or damaging.

It had happened with sufficient regularity, that Prowl decided it was relatively safe to believe that such would the be expected outcome.

A little under half a joor had passed. As his final systems whirred to full power, Prowl onlined his optics.

"Excellent." That was Ratchet's voice. "Good choice, First Aid."

Prowl blinked and then accepted the chartreuse and black hand lowered in front of him. The CMO helped him sit up and then stepped back.

"I told you, sir." First Aid smiled proudly. "It fits him."

Registering himself as a touch annoyed at not knowing what they were referring to, Prowl did another quick scan of his systems. They came back clean as well. No untoward modifications had been made. That left his new optic color as the only logical subject of their deliberation.

"It does." Ratchet agreed and then handed Prowl a mirror.

Cocking an optic ridge, Prowl accepted it and peered down at his image.

What he saw made him stare in shock. Somewhere between deep cobalt and flawless sapphire, his own optics stared back at him. While not nearly as terrifying as his dark ruby optics had been, they were still intense, reflecting the strength of the personality behind them even when he tried not to. He had to agree with Ratchet, the color was perfect.

Only one thing made him a touch uneasy. They were the exact shade as the Prime's. Was it presumptuous on his part to retain such a blatant imitation of the Autobot Supreme Commander? Then his logic systems swept aside that notion. If he had been the one to choose, perhaps… but as he had left that decision in the hands of others, he reasoned he should take it as a gesture of friendliness. _If_ any gesture was intended at all.

He looked up at the two medics and bowed his helm, handing the mirror back to its owner. "My thanks to both of you." He focused on First Aid. "Any unforeseen difficulties?"

First Aid shook his helm, a smile still gracing his lip plates. "None."

Prowl slid off the berth to his feet and looked at Ratchet. "With your permission, Ratchet, I would ask you to evaluate Bluestreak for a possible frame upgrade."

Ratchet's optics widened at the seemingly random request. However, unlike the last time he had requested an upgrade from the medic, Ratchet did not immediately accuse him of attempting to mistreat the youngling. After a moment to process the statement, Ratchet's posture shifted to a more serious stance.

"What signs of readiness have you noticed?"

Relieved not to suddenly find himself confronting a pissed off CMO, Prowl listed them. "He is showing the ability to reason at a more mature level and has demonstrated consistently a more mature understanding of the ramifications of the actions and decisions of those outside of his immediate influence. The questions he asks are increasingly technical and detailed and he is able to retain the information he is given and to apply it to new situations. Foremost, however, he is now requiring more than double the energon rations he has previously needed."

Ratchet considered him for a long moment and then nodded. "All the classic signs. Yes, bring him in before the start of your shift tomorrow and I'll do the evaluation." The medic frowned. "Having enough parts available for both sparklings to go through two more youngling frames and into their first adult frame might be an issue, because there is no telling where we will be supply-wise by the time they are ready for their adult frames."

Prowl nodded, not truly surprised. It had been a concern that had been replaying unobtrusively in the back of his processor since Bluestreak had first come under his protection. "I understand."

"There are always options, Prowl." Ratchet placed a hand briefly on his shoulder in an uncharacteristically comforting gesture. "I've been trying to figure those options out in my spare time since they came on the base. I'll just have to make it a priority now."

* * *

_I do believe this chapter contains at least one of the more anticipated moments of this story (so far). I hope it lived up to expectations._

_I just want to give everyone a heads up. I know that for the most part, I have been able to update this story on an almost weekly basis. That will probably not continue, primarily because I will be returning to school (graduate school) in early June. Second, though definitely related, is that I will still be working part to full time while I am in school. Never fear, I __**will**__ continue to update (and until school actually starts I will endeavor to do so as frequently as possible), it will just not be as frequently as I have spoiled everyone with. So I ask (more than a month in advance) for your patience. :) _

_Until then, I look forward to hearing what you guys are thinking, speculating etc. _


	28. Arrangements

_Yes, this is early. I will try to get as much of this story posted __**before**__ school and real life slows my update schedule. _

_Note: I've decided to change my time measurements, just to make it easier on all of us. I've said before that I figured a cybertronian month would be roughly 8-10 decaorns. However, I haven't seen that confirmed anywhere. When I did some research I found that "Quartex" had never been truly defined and was only used once in "More Than Meets the Eye" part one. So, for the sake of convenience, I am going to co-opt that measurement. Thus, keeping with the construction of the word, from here on, a __**Quartex**__ will arbitrarily be four decaorns._

* * *

Bluestreak's reaction to Prowl's new optic color was almost as enthusiastic as his reaction to the news that Prowl was going to take him to the med bay in the morning for an evaluation for his first frame upgrade. Jazz had likewise gotten a kick out of the youngling's reaction before taking his leave, but not before he too commented that Prowl's optic color was 'perfect' for him.

Prowl had released a short huff of air and replied that First Aid could take credit for that choice. Jazz had only laughed at that as well, though it was not a harsh sound. It had been friendly and warm, a sound that sent a pang through Prowl's CPU at remembering how this same mech had so recently torn through his processor…

Prowl pushed both the memory of the fragmentation and of the previous evening away as he walked toward the med bay, focusing instead on the youngling's excited chatter.

Ratchet, of course, was expecting them with First Aid at his side.

Apparently freed of his previous nervousness of the medic, Bluestreak bounded forward to stare up at Ratchet.

"Prowl said you are going to evaluate me for an upgrade. What type of upgrade? Will it be like the language download or will it be something else? Will I be bigger? I'm tired of being so small, but I guess it isn't that bad. You aren't going to make Prowl give up his energon this time, are you? What do you want me to do?"

Ratchet chuckled shortly, but cut it off into a coughing of his engine and pointed to one of the smaller berths. "Come up here. I'm just going to run a few scans for now. After that we'll figure out what type of upgrades you need."

"Alright." He started to comply then stopped, looking back at Prowl, who had stayed by the door.

Prowl could not mistake the silent plea in those young optics and stepped forward. Bluestreak reached for him and Prowl raised his hand to grasp the much smaller one. He then lifted Bluestreak to settle onto the berth

Clearly comforted by his guardian's presence, Bluestreak looked up at Ratchet and nodded. "I'm ready."

The scans lasted less than a breem and then Ratchet dismissed them, telling Prowl that he would contact him within a few orn to discuss their options. "In the meantime, First Aid and I are going to review these results."

Prowl hesitated, remembering Ratchet's initial distrust of his ability to care for Bluestreak's language update. "You will tell me if anything… abnormal… is found?"

The CMO's gaze snapped back to him in surprise that melted quickly into sharp chagrin. The medic's answer was not as biting as Prowl would have expected. "Of course I will, Prowl."

"Thank you." Prowl stated softly and then lifted Bluestreak to the ground.

"I want to know what's going on too." Bluestreak looked up at Prowl. "It's my frame that was scanned, I should know if anything wrong shows up and what type of upgrade I'm supposed to be getting. It isn't fair if I…"

"Of course I will keep you informed Bluestreak." Prowl assured, aware that both Ratchet and First Aid's gazes sharpened at the youngling's statement. A desire to assert one's authority over one's own frame was yet another sign of readiness for an upgrade. "You will also be included in any discussion about upgrades."

"You promise?" Bluestreak searched his now cobalt optics.

Prowl nodded solemnly, as if he were addressing the Prime rather than a youngling. "I do."

Bluestreak's entire countenance changed, relaxing with evident relief as if a great weight had been removed from his tiny doorwings. "Thank you, Prowl."

There was no question that Bluestreak had absolute faith that Prowl would do exactly as he said he would. It was a faith, Ratchet and First Aid realized, that the youngling had demonstrated since the first day Prowl had come to the med bay. Probably since the moment Prowl had rescued him from the rubble of Praxus. He had been the only one to trust Prowl at that point and they had feared the young one would come to harm because such trust was doubtlessly misplaced.

But Bluestreak had been right. Somehow he had seen what they had all missed, his innocently young spark untainted by the blinding, if justified, prejudice the adults had developed over nearly a decavorn of war. Ratchet knew he would be presenting his findings to both of them, not just Prowl.

"I think we might have a clue as to why he has matured mentally so quickly." First Aid murmured quietly as the door closed behind the two Praxians.

Ratchet glanced at his apprentice. "Trauma, such as what Bluestreak faced, if experienced after a crucial point in his development can have that effect. Which means Bumblebee might be delayed in his development because he was significantly younger. We have discussed this, First Aid."

First Aid nodded, not in the least put out by the snark in Ratchet's words. "I know. But Prowl treats him as if he were _already_ more mature… nothing inappropriate or anything, but he doesn't really encourage _im_maturity."

Ratchet's narrowed optic shutters were a silent command to explain. First Aid cleared his vents, suddenly doubting his observations. Nevertheless, he was quick to answer. "Well, for example. Chromia said he let Bluestreak help paint him. How many of us would let a sparkling his age _paint_ us? But by all accounts, Bluestreak _enjoyed_ learning how to do it. Whatever Prowl did, he managed to help a youngling learn a task most of us would have thought beyond his abilities, and did so in a way that left the little one _wanting_ to learn more. I hear he's asked Prowl to teach him to shoot."

Ratchet stared for a moment and then chuckled, beckoning First Aid to follow him into his office to review the data they had just collected.

… … …

This time Prowl approached the tactical command with a touch more confidence even if he was still unsure. He was confident in that he knew his function and he had an assignment to fulfill: brief Smokescreen on the newest developments concerning Megatron. His insecurity lay in that he was not entirely sure what to expect on the other side of the tactical command center's doors.

After taking a few strides away from Chromia's quarters he decided it would be best to comm. Smokescreen and notify him that he had important information he needed to report.

Smokescreen acknowledged that notification and told him he was in his office and to report directly there. It was said with the slightly distracted air of a mech doing multiple things at once.

As he had done the whole of the previous decaorn, Prowl stepped into the tactical command. center He was early for his shift, his stop at the med bay not having taken as long as he had anticipated, and only a few mechs were already at their stations. They looked up at his entry and, to a one, started at his altered appearance and then blinked as they registered his Autobot ID signal.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious at their blank looks, Prowl walked stiffly toward Smokescreen's office. He passed Trailbreaker's station as he crossed the chamber. As he drew near, the other mech spoke quietly, his tone carefully devoid of emotion.

"I see that they rewarded you well for that last mission."

Prowl paused, looking at the other tactician and then answered in an equally hushed tone with equal neutrality. "You believe it is too early?"

Trailbreaker huffed. "What's done is done, I guess. Don't expect the rest of us to just forget everything else."

Prowl considered the other Autobot for a long moment and then softened his own tone, forcing the defensiveness out of his stance. "I am not asking you to forget anything, Trailbreaker. Nor do I expect more trust than you are comfortable giving me."

Trailbreaker looked at him a moment longer and then the tense set of his armor softened a fraction and he nodded once before turning back to his consol.

Prowl continued to study him and then returned the gesture and continued toward Smokescreen's office. He was admitted immediately and could not help the strange sensation that always threatened to overcome him when he realized _he_ was reporting to _Smokescreen_. Judging by the slightly unnerved look on his former apprentice's face, Prowl was not alone in that feeling.

Then Smokescreen's optics widened as he took in Prowl's new faction symbol and flicked up to search his now cobalt optics. Smokescreen stared almost as in disbelief and then he double-checked Prowl's faction ID signal and that was enough. A tiny smile, almost triumphant in nature, threatened the corners of the gray and white Praxian's lip plates as he stood.

Prowl had remained absolutely motionless during his department leader's inspection, finding himself inexplicably nervous as to what his former student's reaction might be.

Once he was standing directly in front of Prowl however, Smokescreen lost his battle with the happy grin that spread across his faceplate. "So, they finally turned you loose."

Prowl grimaced. "Hardly. I am still on probation as I am not trusted completely."

Smokescreen only snorted, not letting Prowl's pessimism dampen his sudden enthusiasm. "Eh. You're probably trusted more than you think." Then he suddenly smirked. "I like the new look by the way."

Prowl found he could relax a fraction and then found himself returning that smirk with one of his own. "I doubt you are alone in that."

Smokescreen let the moment of subdued humor hang between them then straightened subtly as he forcibly brought himself back to the business at hand. "You said that you had something urgent to report?"

"Yes." Prowl was instantly more serious as well. "Last orn, the Prime received a message from Megatron. He happened to be with me when he received the message and asked me to brief you on what it entailed. We now have cause to believe that he will attempt to retaliate."

Smokescreen was frowning, though he did not seem perturbed that Prowl had received this information first as Prowl had feared he might be. "We expected as much."

Prowl nodded. "Indeed. But his target has changed, at least for the near future. He knows I survived Praxus and he knows I have defected and he knows I am in Iacon."

"Barricade." Smokescreen hissed the words between clinched denta.

Prowl nodded.

"And now Megatron wants you."

Prowl nodded again.

Smokescreen thought for a few astroseconds. "Assassination?"

Prowl flicked a doorwing. "Perhaps, but he threatened the Prime with widespread violence if he did not hand me over. I suspect he will attempt to attack the Autobots in general, at least initially. If that attempt is rebuffed, he may very well resort to assassination."

Smokescreen eyed him. "You'd prefer that, wouldn't you."

Prowl nodded once, sharply. "It would not be the first time a crime lord wished to eliminate me. I can take care of my self, I would prefer that others not be put in danger because of me."

Smokescreen's expression changed fractionally, though Prowl had a hard time reading it. "I know. But Megatron is more of a terrorist than simply a crime lord." He fell silent for another couple astroseconds, considering the implications, and then his expression changed again, hardening into firm determination. "I want you to brief the rest of the department as soon as the first shift starts."

Prowl blinked. He had not expected that. Smokescreen had not even asked to see a recording of the message. Even so, he was pleased that his protégé was making decisions without hesitation.

"Yes, sir."

He politely ignored the way Smokescreen's optics widened and the faint tremble of the younger mech's doorwings at that term of address.

Ten breems later the entire division was gathered around the central terminal. Those who had not been in the tactical command center earlier when Prowl had entered likewise reacted to his altered appearance, some more enthusiastically than others. Smokescreen called the meeting to order and then turned it over to Prowl.

The surprised, sometimes indignant reactions – as muted and controlled as they were – made Prowl hesitate, glancing at Smokescreen. His former apprentice nodded and Prowl addressed the other mechs. He kept his tone carefully neutral, as he would during any briefing, trying to remove himself emotionally from what he was about to discuss. This time it was both easy and one of the more difficult things he had done in that regard.

"Last evening, the Prime received a message from Megatron. That message gives us an idea of what the Decepticons are planning." Accessing the controls of the terminal, Prowl downloaded his memory of the message and played it.

After the message finished, it took a moment for the other mechs to respond. Trailbreaker, who as the second highest-ranking mech in the department was Smokescreen's defacto second in command, was looking a touch disgusted.

He looked at Smokescreen. "The Prime isn't thinking of accepting that offer is he?"

Smokescreen nodded to Prowl and all attention shifted back to him. Prowl carefully considered the other mech and hesitated in answering. "No, the Prime is not considering that offer at this time."

"He isn't?" Another mech, Tailgate, demanded; sounding as if he would have chosen differently.

Prowl answered without thinking. "Doing so is something a Decepticon would do and is unbecoming of an Autobot. The Prime will not lower himself to that degree."

Prowl snapped his vocalizer off, realizing he had spoken with more bite than he should have. He might be an Autobot, but he had no rank. Everyone else in this room still outranked him. It was not the first time he had ever given a briefing to a group in which he was the lowest one in the command chain, but it had been a long time since he had done so in the type of department he had once been a commander of. He also realized with a lurch of his tanks, that he had taken great liberty in speaking for the Prime just then.

Needless to say, the other mechs would not let his mistake slide.

Tailgate hissed at him. "You are just saying that because it's _your_ life. Speaking as if you aren't a slagging 'Con yourself…"

"Stand down, Tailgate!" Smokescreen snapped. "As you can see, he is one of us now."

Generalized restlessness gave evidence that most of the mechs present were at least partially uneasy at his sudden change in status. It proved Prowl's concern and reinforced the fact that he was still very much on probation. Even so, he could not fault that suspicion; one mission should _not_ be enough to erase _all_ concern.

Prowl addressed the aggravated Tailgate. "While perhaps it is to early for you to trust me, know that if there was any real likelihood that such an exchange would bring about a true cessation of hostility, I would have volunteered for it."

His words, at least as pertaining to the chances of such a thing actually encouraging Megatron to end the war, served to settle some frayed neural wiring, though not all.

Smokescreen nodded, looking over the mechs under is command. "But in reality, doing so would only serve to take away a major resource on our side. All of you know that last mission was only a success because of Prowl."

That reminder served to further settle the agitation swirling around the gathered tacticians.

Finally Trailbreaker spoke again, looking at Smokescreen. "And what is the plan? How are we going to defend against whatever it is Megatron is going to do in an effort to get _him_."

There was no mistaking his general dislike of possibly having either his or his friends' sparks put at risk to protect Prowl.

Instead of answering, Smokescreen looked at Prowl and waved him to continue.

Prowl was momentarily stuck. They had discussed nothing further than the new threat and he did not know how Smokescreen intended to address it from there. He knew what he would do in Smokescreen's place, but…

Then it hit him. Smokescreen was letting _him_ decide. He frowned fractionally at that realization. He was the lowest ranking mech present, even if he _did_ know what to do, it was not right or proper that he should be making such decisions. But he had no way of contesting what was happening without bringing what Smokescreen was doing to everyone else's attention. Nor was calling him on it directly, even if privately, necessarily the best way to get the lesson across.

With a faint, irritated grinding of the gears in his mandible hinge, Prowl continued, knowing Smokescreen had manipulated the situation into forcing him to make these decisions. "Special Operations is going to be focusing on what his plans might be. Once we have a better idea of what we will be dealing with, we will adjust our plans accordingly. Until then, our first objective is to prepare Iacon for possible assault."

Smokescreen stepped in then, giving specific assignments and dismissing the other mechs to their duties. Prowl had not been given an assignment and so he remained stationary as Smokescreen circled the terminal to approach him. Prowl had used that time to carefully consider how he would handle Smokescreen's apparent disregard for his rank and his standing in the chain of command. It would be unseemly and would undermine Smokescreen's authority if that behavior continued.

Smokescreen spoke softly, stepping closer. "What are you thinking, Prowl?"

Prowl glanced sidelong at his former apprentice and spoke with calm respect, aware his words and actions were being monitored by those closest to them. "What aspect of this do you wish for me to work on?"

Smokescreen frowned, lowering his voice so that only Prowl could hear. "Where do you think you should work?"

Prowl turned to face his department leader and though his posture remained that of intentional deference, his optics narrowed. He too spoke quietly. "You know my strengths and abilities, Smokescreen. You know the job that needs to be done. You are a tactician. Where do _you_ think I should be assigned."

Smokescreen hesitated, suddenly looking nervous.

Prowl cleared his vents _/Smokescreen./_ It was the same tone he had used often in the Precinct when Smokescreen was too timid to give an answer to a question he had asked.

Smokescreen's vents flared, then he blinked looking at Prowl's autobot insignia… anywhere but at his optics. He answered quickly over the same signal. _/Primary intake and analysis of intelligence gathered by Spec Ops on the analysis side and then overall lead on the tactical side…"_ /He hesitated again glancing up to meet his gaze and Prowl waited silently for him to finish.

Smokescreen continued, sounding almost apologetic. _/But regulations say that no one under the rank of Senior Lieutenant can take overall lead without a monitor and… well, you don't even have a rank yet./_

That was when Prowl understood; Smokescreen's hesitation had been two-fold. Primary data intake was perhaps one of the most junior assignments a mech could be given, even if the analysis portion of that assignment was more senior. Smokescreen had been concerned he would be offended by that role and then he had also worried about once again having to force him to work under a monitor.

He chose to ignore his apprentice's first concern, hoping that doing so would show he knew his place and did not object to it, and answered gently. "Having a monitor is not a new situation."

"But…"

Prowl's optics narrowed again, not wanting Smokescreen to say anything out loud that would undermine himself and cut him off with another comm.. _/If I were any other mech besides your former supervisor and mentor would you hesitate to issue those orders?/_

Smokescreen blinked, straightening a fraction as he used to when Prowl would brace him back when their positions were reversed. _/No./_

Prowl's expression was hard and unyielding; that of a teacher or superior waiting for an order to be carried out even if his body language still spoke respect. Smokescreen looked confused at first, but Prowl could see his expression change as he quickly figured out what Prowl was doing. What Prowl was _forcing_ him to do. And then, a second later, _why_ he was doing it.

Smokescreen continued to look at him, his expression almost pleading. But when Prowl gave no indication of backing down, he cleared his vents. Reluctantly drawing himself up, forcing himself to meet Prowl's now brilliant sapphire gaze, Smokescreen spoke loudly enough for his words to be heard by most of the mechs in the tactical command center.

Though his words were firm, his expression remained almost pained. "Prowl, you will be seeing to the intake and primary analysis of all intelligence collected on this matter by Special Ops. Then, when the time comes, you will take overall lead. Your monitor will be determined at that time, in accordance with protocol."

Smokescreen's vents were heaving with his internal stress.

Prowl nodded minutely, pleased at Smokescreen's performance. Then he let his frame relax into a visibly submissive posture, though he gave him a barely-there smirk. "Understood."

Smokescreen stared at him, then huffed a bark of laughter, though it was more of a release of tension than true humor. He started to step away then leaned close to his former mentor, whispering harshly but quiet enough only Prowl could hear. "Don't do that to me again."

Prowl was nonplussed. "You are the department head, I…"

Smokescreen's optics narrowed. "It won't be for long. You know that."

"I know no such thing." Prowl glanced purposefully at the roomful of mechs who clearly did not trust him enough to take orders from him, keeping his voice soft enough to keep his comment private. "Until that should happen, _if_ it ever does, you are still the department head. I will give no one cause to doubt that fact or my acceptance of it."

Smokescreen growled, huffing again in irritation, although his voice never got any louder. "And I'm _telling_ you not to do that to me again."

Prowl smirked, but dipped his helm. "Yes, sir."

His answer was loud enough to be heard by the others, who would doubtlessly draw their own conclusions as to what Smokescreen had been upset with and what had been said that might result in such an answer being given.

Smokescreen's doorwings flared, clearly uncomfortable having Prowl acquiesce to his orders so willingly.

With another huff, but clearly unwilling to continue this conversation, Smokescreen pointed to a nearby console that was currently unmanned. "Use that one. I'll… check on you later in the orn."

Then he was gone, retreating into his office. Prowl watched him go, somewhat bemused at his former apprentice's reaction. There was no doubt Smokescreen had understood why he done what he had, or even why it was necessary. But there was no guarantee the younger mech might not find a way to repay him for the discomfort that awkward conversation had caused.

Not that it mattered, Prowl decided. He had accomplished what had to be accomplished and he was confident Smokescreen would be more careful in the future not to say or do anything that would undermine his own authority. He could handle any minor social discomfort that might result from it.

Quietly pleased with himself and how things were going, Prowl lowered himself into the seat and proceeded to organize his terminal. There was a lot of work to be done.

… … …

The work of interpreting and analyzing the intelligence gathered by scouts, communications and Spec Ops continued without anomaly. Two orns after Prowl had first brought the situation to Smokescreen's attention, Prowl was diligently pouring over the information they had gathered so far, identifying holes that needed to be filled and simultaneously compiling a working report that would be handed to Smokescreen at the end of the orn. A report that the Head Tactician would then forward to Special Operations.

He spared only enough concentration to respectfully acknowledge Jazz's presence as the saboteur handed him yet another datapad with new intelligence.

Not pausing in his analysis, Prowl plugged the datapad into the terminal and began programming it, expecting Jazz to leave as he had every other time he had delivered a datapad. Only Jazz did not.

Instead he spoke, voice carefully controlled but sounding almost disapointed. "So… data intake eh? Is that the job you expected to have?"

Prowl blinked, saving his work even as he paused his calculations to look up at Jazz momentarily. "It is a necessary task and, considering the situation, one I would not have hesitated to assign myself."

Jazz frowned. "Is that it? Is that what happened? You chose this job for yourself?"

Prowl stiffened at the understated challenging accusation, focusing fully on the saboteur. He was well aware some of the other tactical staff were paying discrete attention. "Smokescreen assigned me to the task it is most logical that I do, regardless of anything else."

Jazz said nothing for a long moment and then continued, thoughtful. "And if he'd given ya something else ta do instead?"

Prowl's engine revved before he could stop it. "Then that is what I would be doing instead."

The two mechs continued to stare at each other for an uncomfortable moment and then Prowl lowered his gaze to the silver minibot's chassis. "Is that what this is? Are you making sure I am not attempting to take over your tactical department?"

Jazz's gaze did not sharpen, though it did not soften either. It only became more enigmatic. "You are the most experienced and skilled tactician here."

"And I know my place." Prowl lifted his gaze back to that expressionless visor, willing the other mech to believe him.

Jazz just looked him over and Prowl did not move until the inspection was complete, indicated by the way Jazz stepped back. He had known his unintentional boldness with the Prime the other orn would come back to haunt him. There was no telling how long he would have to fight suspicion that he was attempting to take over the tactical department.

At length Jazz nodded. Then he ambled over to smokescreen's office and stuck his helm in.

Prowl went back to work, staunchly ignoring the fact that a few moments later Smokescreen left with Jazz, walking out of the tactical command center. He was the lowest ranking mech in the department; it was not his business. He did not acknowledge how much that fact threatened to irk, pushing his personal feelings aside with practiced stoic determination and acceptance of reality.

He had work to do.

… … …

Smokescreen settled uneasily into the seat the Prime pointed him toward. Since he had been appointed the Autobot's Head Tactician he had spent a lot of time in the Prime's presence. But frequency had never made it feel… right. He had only been a Junior Diversionary Tactician in the Precinct in Praxus, not having even fully completed his advanced apprenticeship with Prowl. He had no right to be advising the Prime, regardless of the fact he had been doing so for six vorns.

Now, in the Prime's office, facing the regal cobalt and crimson mech with Ironhide ever at his shoulder and Jazz seated beside him… Smokescreen was tense.

Very tense.

Prime considered him kindly, though there was an underlying tension in his features as well. "It has been several orns now, how is Prowl settling into his new position?"

Smokescreen blinked. "Alright, as far as I can tell. I mean, he hasn't complained or anything – not that I'd expect him to." He looked at Ironhide and then back at Optimus. "You should probably, um, ask _him_ that, sir."

Optimus allowed a tiny nod, though that unusual tension never left. "Perhaps. But you are his superior officer. Do you have any concerns?"

Smokescreen jerked back, his doorwings flaring briefly. "Concerns, Prime?"

It was Ironhide who answered, that same unspoken…_something…_ underlying his words and posture, making Smokescreen increasingly uneasy. "He is not used to being at the bottom of the chain of command."

Smokescreen's doorwings flared again, suddenly defensive. "No, he isn't. And for good reason. But he's a professional and would never intentionally violate the chain of command." He let his gaze sweep over all three of the other mechs in the room; suddenly grateful Prowl had refused any attempt to let him exercise more authority than his non-existent rank permitted. "Is that what this is about?"

Optimus' gesture was consoling, as was his tone, though there was still an undertone that made Smokescreen think more was going on than he was immediately catching onto. "We just want to make sure you aren't being pressured by him."

Engine revving as his doorwings flicked again, Smokescreen felt his vents flare as he shook his helm definitively. "Prowl isn't trying to run the tactical department."

The Praxian snorted at the very idea. "He wouldn't even choose where he would assign himself when I _offered_ the choice." Smokescreen shifted his gaze to glare at Ironhide. "He might not have been this low in the energon line in a long time, but he wasn't sparked as a commander. I could assign him something a drone should do – like polish the flooring – and he'd do it. Probably without much complaint. But that would be a waste of his talent."

Looking back at the Prime, Smokescreen leaned forward, the earnestness of his words surprising even him. "If he ever violates the chain of command, I am absolutely certain he would have a fragging good reason."

Smokescreen leaned back, but then spoke into the taut silence, the hand that had landed on the Prime's desk curling into a fist as he willed the Prime to believe him. "And the thing of it is, he _should_ be running the department. I know it. He knows it. And so do you. Sir."

Again it was Ironhide who answered, though Smokescreen could have sworn he saw a small glint of pleased expectation in the Prime's optics. "The Autobots – let alone the commanders – are not ready for _him_ to have such an influential position."

Jazz jumped in before Smokescreen could reply. "Surely ya can admit it's a little too soon, Smokey. He's only been here for just over two quartex. He was Megs' golden boy for nearly a deca_vorn_. He hasn't been seen with his new blue optics enough for the rest of tha troops to willingly accept hearing his voice rather than yours."

Smokescreen considered that, the way all three of them were watching him intently, as if waiting for him to catch something none of them wanted to actually put into words. Then his doorwings flared again as he suddenly realized there was definitely more at play here than he had suspected. The expectant and almost hopeful expressions that were watching him could only mean what he was thinking they might mean.

But could he trust that assumption?

He nodded slowly, speaking carefully. "Very well. Know that, as Lead Autobot Tactician, I am going to do everything _I_ can to make sure our faction doesn't end up wasting a very valuable resource."

Optimus returned his nod, the barest hint of a smile touching his lip plate. "That is all I can ask, Smokescreen. It would, after all be very unfortunate to waste any potential advantage or resource. Thank you for your time."

Smokescreen blinked. That was all? Jazz had dragged him all the way to the Prime's office for that? Nevertheless, he recognized a dismissal and stood to bow his respects to the Prime.

It was only when he was halfway back to the tactical command that Smokescreen realized what had _really_ just happened. When he did there was no helping the happy grin that split his faceplate. He knew that Prowl should be the one to run the tactical department. He had just been given tacit permission to make sure the others on the command team came to realize the same slagging thing.

… … …

Halfway through the next orn, Prowl looked up from his terminal as Smokescreen stepped out of his office. He watched as his former apprenticed walked to one of the nearby mechs, a light copper and blue mech named Fusion. Smokescreen leaned over and pointed at something on the screen and the two started discussing it quietly.

Prowl glanced again at his own terminal, briefly double-checking that he did indeed have what he needed. Then, making his decision, he stood and walked closer to Smokescreen. He stopped at a polite distance: close enough to make clear he desired to speak to Smokescreen, but not close enough to intrude.

A twitch of the other Praxian's doorwings let him know Smokescreen knew he was there.

Roughly two breems later, Smokescreen straightened and, with parting instructions to Fusion, walked toward him. "Yes, Prowl?"

"I believe we have enough information to begin active tactical planning. Any additional intelligence can be processed simultaneously." He delivered the news calmly and without emotion.

"Very good." But his former apprentice seemed a bit more uneasy than the situation called for. Then determination took over and he pointed to the central terminal and led Prowl toward it. "I have been thinking that it is time the mechs under my command have the opportunity to learn from the best."

Unspoken was a question and Prowl nodded his agreement with the other tactician's assessment as well as his unspoken decision, regardless of what the implications of what his agreement might mean for him.

Smokescreen regarded him for a moment longer, then looked over at a very specific mech. "Trailbreaker."

Trailbreaker looked up, startled. "Yes, sir?"

Smokescreen gestured him over and once Trailbreaker had joined them, Smokescreen smiled widely at him. "You wanted to learn offensive tactics?"

Looking decidedly uneasy, shooting a nervous glance at Prowl, Trailbreaker nevertheless nodded.

Gesturing to one of the stools Smokescreen pat the other mech on the arm. "Prowl is going to take lead on our current planning and, as he has no rank yet, regulations require a monitor be assigned to him."

Trailbreaker blinked, "Me?" He glanced again at Prowl's stony, unreadable expression; which was still fixed on Smokescreen.

Smokescreen nodded confirmation. "_Officially_ your job is to make sure he doesn't try anything untoward. _Unofficially_, it is to watch a master tactician work. Meaning: stay out of his way unless you actually happen to see something suspicious."

Trailbreaker was unmistakably worried now. "Uh…Understood sir."

Prowl was reminded of how frightened Trailbreaker had been to synch with him, or rather the hub, during their recent mission. Briefly he thought it almost cruel for Smokescreen to choose _him_ to be his monitor. But he said nothing as Smokescreen pat the other mech's arm again in reassurance.

"I promise, if you give him a chance, you could learn a lot. Prowl is an excellent teacher."

Trailbreaker glanced at Prowl again, clearly not totally convinced of that, then he nodded timidly.

Smokescreen smiled at him then looked at Prowl. The two Praxians locked gazes for a long moment. Prowl had assumed his monitor would be Smokescreen again, but retrospectively realized he had had no right to have made such an assumption. For whatever reason, Smokescreen had made the decision differently.

Dipping his helm, Prowl yielded to that decision without comment, accepting the hub Smokescreen pulled out of subspace.

Without another word, Smokescreen left, returning to his office.

With a shallow ex-vent of air, Prowl looked at Trailbreaker, reading clearly the other's nervousness and forced his doorwings to settle into a non-threatening pose.

When the other mech said nothing after nearly half a breem, Prowl took the initiative. "Have you ever done something like this before?"

Trailbreaker straightened, clearly defensive and affronted. But when Prowl's posture never changed he paused to search the Praxian's gaze. While distinctly neutral and therefore not warm, those newly cobalt optics were by no means disgusted or derisive… or anything else he would have expected.

Suddenly feeling like engine sludge for having expected something more _Decepticon_ – and then berating himself for feeling bad for it – Trailbreaker finally deflated. "No, not really."

Prowl merely nodded. "It is not as difficult as you are likely thinking it is."

That said, Prowl quickly connected the hub to his own dataport and then connected the hub to the terminal. Once that was finished he looked back at Trailbreaker. "Synch with the hub just as you would a terminal."

But Trailbreaker only continued to stare at him. Releasing another vent of air, Prowl tried again, softening his voice a fraction. "If you are to monitor my work, you will have to do this. It is a one-way connection and there is no danger for you."

Still Trailbreaker hesitated then, with determined and clipped movements, he plugged into the hub. Prowl watched him carefully and knew the moment Trailbreaker found his firewalls as the other mech's optics widened, dilating slightly as he focused back on him in the physical world

"Slag on a cyber-strudel! Those are your firewalls?"

Prowl managed to suppress a smirk. "Yes. Now, to observe, simply stay at the level of the hub. I will lower the primary firewalls to the appropriate systems and will point out anything else you should see…"

Trailbreaker cut him off, openly more suspicious. "The whole point of having a monitor is to keep an optic on what is going on… not just what you _want_ me to see."

It was a clear challenge, one that actually impressed Prowl coming from a mech who was clearly out of his element. Prowl hesitated for a moment, considering his options.

Smokescreen had assigned this mech as his monitor and, despite what he might want or prefer, he knew what that role entailed. Still, Prowl did not know this mech and he wanted to avoid an absolute stranger having unimpeded access to his processor if possible. However, if he was unable to negotiate a compromise, he knew he would eventually have no choice but to submit to the conditions Smokescreen's second in command placed on him.

For that reason he spoke carefully, respectfully. "That is true. I have nothing to hide, though I do value my mental privacy as I am sure you can understand and would probably feel the same in my place." He saw the other mech's tiny nod and continued. "I propose an arrangement where, if you notice something you find suspicious, I will grant further access at your request."

Trailbreaker hesitated, looking at him carefully. "I suppose that's fair enough. I mean, you _are_ an Autobot now, not just a 'Con defector. I guess that should count for _something_."

"My thanks." Prowl murmured softly, but could tell that Trailbreaker was not completely mollified yet. "Perhaps if we proceed in the simplest manner as we have discussed but, if at any time you begin to feel uneasy or doubt the legitimacy of that agreement, we can make other arrangements. I assure you that my only interest is in accomplishing the assigned task. I am confident that once we begin, you will find that your worries are for naught."

Trailbreaker hesitated a moment longer then nodded, relaxing palpably.

With a grateful release of air, Prowl returned the gesture and then started going over the data.

Sure enough, as the data began to flow, Trailbreaker relaxed and got into the ebb and flow of the analysis. Sensing that change in the other mech, Prowl began to teach – cautiously at first – pointing out important datapoints and how he knew they connected to other datapoints. He explained the parameters he was using and how he established his algorithms. All the while he allowed the other tactician to ask whatever questions he wished.

It was soon clear that Trailbreaker, while sharp, was inherently more suspicious than average and would doubtless do best in a position where he was assigned the task of detecting holes in available information and irregularities in the data. He would also do well in detecting false information and other enemy attempts to mislead. A tendency that likely explained how he had discovered the Decepticon's attempts to send out drone curriers.

Prowl filed that tidbit of information away.

As the shift came to an end, Prowl saved his work and then looked at Trailbreaker, arching an optic ridge in silent question.

Trailbreaker huffed a bark of embarrassed laughter. "Well… you were right. That was… enlightening." Then he looked away, not wanting to meet Prowl's gaze. "You really are a master tactician."

"It is what I was programmed and trained for." Prowl answered softly.

Trailbreaker nodded quickly and pushed away from the terminal.

"Am I to assume we will continue next shift?" Prowl asked as the other mech stood.

"I… guess so." Trailbreaker looked at him again, thoughtfully and then left.

Prowl watched him go, aware that Smokescreen was coming closer. When Smokescreen had come to a stop across the terminal from him Prowl stood respectfully, this assignment having forcibly reminded him of his true status in the department.

"A moment Prowl?" Smokescreen asked, gesturing toward his office.

Prowl nodded mutely and followed his commanding officer into the smaller room. Once the door shut, Smokescreen turned to face him, settling casually on the edge of his desk.

"So… how did it go?"

There was no question as to what 'it' was. Prowl hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Trailbreaker is not naturally inclined toward offensive tactics, but I believe he would excel at being a good compliment to an on the ground tactician in analysis of incoming data."

Smokescreen's optics widened. "A tandem process?"

Prowl nodded. "If he is willing to learn how to do that."

Smokescreen smiled briefly then sobered, looking down at his clasped hands briefly before forcing himself to meet Prowl's emotionless gaze. "You understand why I did not keep myself as your monitor?"

Prowl's own gaze narrowed fractionally in sudden suspicion. "I can think of several possible motivations."

Smokescreen smirked and then gestured with a few fingers. "List them for me."

Prowl blinked, but his former apprentice's words were clearly a command. Thus he provided the answer Smokescreen had solicited. "One, you duties precluded you taking that role yourself. Two, you wanted me to teach Trailbreaker what I could. Three, you wished for me to get a better understanding of Trailbreaker's abilities. And four, you hoped to get one of the mechs more outspoken against me to change his views."

"Trailbreaker is my second in command." Smokescreen agreed softly, almost wistfully.

Prowl nodded again. "I never contested the legitimacy of assigning him to the role you did."

"You weren't pleased with my choice." Smokescreen pointed out.

Prowl grimaced, forcing his gaze downward. "I was surprised. I had no right to be and I apologize for being inconsiderate…"

"Inconsiderate?" Smokescreen shook his helm. "Prowl… You are going to be their boss someday. They need to get used to working with you."

Prowl jerked back, never having considered that a possible motivation for Smokescreen's actions. He spoke even more softly. "You truly believe that?"

Smokescreen nodded once, firmly. "I do."

Prowl looked at him again, considering his former apprentice closely. "You would be willing to work under my command again?"

Smokescreen paused, hesitating now that the question had actually been asked. But he of all mechs knew that Prowl had always been a fair commander and a willing teacher. After a moment he nodded firmly. "Yes."

Prowl released a short huff of air, letting his doorwings flick as he glanced at the portal leading back to the main tactical command. "You are, perhaps, the only one who will."

Smokescreen just smiled at him. "I think you will be surprised, given time. You will gain their confidence. You made great strides doing that today with Trailbreaker. The others will come around as well."

Prowl lifted a single optic ridge. "I take it then that you will eventually have every mech in your department act as my monitor at some point?"

Smokescreen merely shrugged. "If that is what it takes. Will you be okay with that?"

Prowl's gaze went flat again. "I am outranked by all the other mechs under your command. I know this. I will not cause you trouble in my interactions with them."

"That is not what I meant." Smokescreen frowned. "I mean personally. Will you be alright with letting the others rotate through the position of being your monitor?"

Prowl regarded Smokescreen for a moment longer, briefly wondering if this was retribution for forcing his hand earlier in the decaorn. But in looking at his former apprentice's earnest optics, Prowl could not help but acknowledge Smokescreen truly intended this to help the others accept him more quickly.

"I will be fine, Smokescreen. Do what you feel you must to benefit your department." Prowl heard himself answering. "With your permission, however, I have a youngling waiting to go to the training range."

Smokescreen smiled then, the lingering tension in his frame releasing. "Get out of here, then."

Smirking, Prowl stood, nodding with artificially amplified formality. "I shall. Thank you."

* * *

_I know it is shorter than my recent chapters, but trust me, the next scene will be much better leading off a chapter than ending it. *Snicker* Never fear my friends, I have not forgotten Prowl's promise to train Bluestreak, nor have I forgotten about his upgrade. Ratchet is just having a hard time figuring out what to do, as soon as he knows, so will you. :) _

_Just for clarification; While Tailgate is the name of a 'real' Autobot character, I have to think it would be a fairly common name for a robotic species because I do not intend for this Tailgate to be the same type of character as the G1 character… he is more like the Prime version, though not entirely. Also, in case there is any question, Fusion is just a made up character as was Razor. An OC, Perhaps, but just an extra/filler. _

_As always, I would like to hear you ideas/comments/thoughts… _


	29. Taking Aim

_Once more I find myself apologizing for the delay… my internet connection has been iffy for the past few weeks and then we had some horrid weather move through our area (we were under tornado watches and everything) and afterward I wasn't getting any internet at home at all. Not even the 3G on my iPhone. For five slagging days. Very annoying, I tell you. (Makes one wonder how we ever survived before the internet, right?) So, you would have had this update almost a week ago except for the vagaries of local weather. _

_Note: When you get to the applicable scene, please keep in mind that I see absolutely NOTHING sexual with the whole interface/hardline connection thing. No more sexual than a USB drive in a computer. Just like I pointed out before Prowl's interrogation. Kindly keep all minds out of the gutter, please. Thank you._

_Anyway, This chapter is a little extra long (OK, the longest one yet)… not really to make up for the delay, but rather because this first scene just deserves to lead off a chapter, not finish one. Enjoy._

* * *

He took a moment to still his processors, focusing on the steady pulse of his spark, the rhythm of his internal systems and the feel of air passing through his vents as he focused on the mental checklist of all the steps he had to follow to do this right.

Prime the weapon. Check.

He was momentarily distracted as he listened to its small power pack whirr as it charged fully. But the process took less than an astrosecond.

Find the sights. Check.

Line the sights up with the target. Check.

Once he was older and in his adult frame he would be able to integrate the aiming mechanism with his optics and that would be really neat, but for now… No.

He had to focus.

Steady the weapon, one finger lightly brushing the trigger mechanism but not depressing it yet and the other hand bracing its barrel, holding it stable.

Check.

Focus… pull air in through his vents in a calm, steady manner.

Once… twice… and…

His finger slammed down on the trigger control.

Bright blue energy shot out of the small barrel and lanced across the relatively short distance of the close-range training field, striking the target in the outer quarter. The special surface evaporated under the otherwise harmless laser's touch.

With a happy squeal, Bluestreak popped up from where he had been laying prone on the firing bench. Then he looked back and around for his guardian. Prowl was kneeling behind him, just as he had been before he had taken the shot.

"I got it Prowl. That's the furthest one yet!"

Prowl was not smiling as broadly as Bluestreak was, he never did, but the warmth in his optics spoke volumes to the young mechling. That there was a distinct softening of his guardian's lip plates declared loudly to the youngling that Prowl was, in fact, pleased. So much so, the adult's words were almost unnecessary.

"Indeed, Bluestreak. You are doing very well."

Bluestreak just beamed, loosing himself in the affection he could just feel radiating off the black and white mech, even if it was not always outwardly apparent, even if Prowl did not always show it openly. He just knew it.

"This is harder than I thought it would be. I mean the actual firing isn't but hitting the target is, especially when it's kinda far away. But I've been working really hard and it's only been a decaorn and you've been helping me and I think its finally starting to pay off, because I finally hit _that_ target! But I haven't hit a center-mark yet, except for when it's really, really close. But that isn't really a true test is it? But I'm not giving up until I…"

"Bluestreak." Prowl interrupted in a tone that, while still kind, brought him up short. "Where is your weapon pointed?"

Bluestreak gasped and looked down. He trilled in horror at seeing that, in his enthusiasm, he had not paid attention and now the rifle was point straight at… at Prowl.

"Sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He fumbled with the weapon, quickly trying to get it pointed back down range, his optics wide. In his haste, however, his palm pressed on the firing stud.

The world froze for one horrible instant and then snapped back into motion as a blast of blue laser energy ripped out of the barrel to strike Prowl right on the chassis, just below his right shoulder.

Prowl!

Absolutely mortified and suddenly afraid – afraid to see the look of disappointment he was sure his guardian must be wearing now – Bluestreak dropped his gaze to where his hands still gripped the weapon. His doorwings were trembling; he knew it but could not help it. If this had been a real weapon, he could have killed Prowl. His Guardian! It was unthinkable. Unforgiveable. How could he have been so careless? So clumsy?

How long he buried himself in self-reproach, Bluestreak did not know, only that the longer Prowl remained silent, the more horror and shame he felt, the worse he imagined Prowl's reaction would be when it finally came. It did not matter that that delay was only a handful of seconds.

He almost jumped out of his armor when Prowl's hand gently rested between his doorwings. When it registered that the touch was gentle, not punishing as he just _knew_ he deserved for doing such a terrible thing, it only sent a stab of pain through his spark. He started to keen.

After another moment of stillness, in which his keens were the only thing filling the space between them, black fingers gently took the riffle out of his trembling hands. Bluestreak surrendered the weapon without resistance but was so distraught he only barely registered the fact that it was placed on the firing bench beside him rather than taken away completely.

"Bluestreak…"

Gentle as they were, the words were too much. Bluestreak ducked his helm and sobbed, air hiccupping through his vents. His spark was pounding so loudly in his chassis it was ringing in his audios and he missed the soft whine of Prowl's engine.

Then a warm finger under his chin brought his helm up until he was looking at his guardian's face. There was no anger there, but Bluestreak was too upset to notice this fact as he stared at the deep blue orbs of light that looked down at him.

"I'm so sorry." Bluestreak found himself rambling, as he always seemed unable to keep himself from doing. "I didn't mean to be so careless. I never wanted to hurt you. That was really, really mean and I never want to be mean to you… you do so much for me I… I can't believe… I don't know why…"

"Bluestreak." It was said with the same calm rumble as it had been earlier but this time finally broke through the endless cycle of self-reproach. He stared up at Prowl as the black and white mech continued. "It was an accident."

Even though it was not a question, Bluestreak nodded fervently. "I would never do anything to hurt you, not on purpose, Prowl. And I don't want to do anything on accident either. Please believe me. I…"

"I know. No harm was done." Was it… yes, there was actually a soft, barely audible, soothing purr from Prowl's engine underlying those words. Prowl was actually trying to _comfort_ him; the one who had just _shot_ him.

Bluestreak stopped keening, looking up at his guardian with wide optics as Prowl continued, that underlying, gently undulating croon still softening his words. "There is a reason younglings train with a low-powered lasers. This type of thing is _expected_ to happen until you gain sufficient concentration and automated motor control to prevent it."

It was… expected?

He was _not_ in trouble? Prowl was not upset or disappointed with him?

Bluestreak searched his guardian's face for a long moment, but he found no hint of subterfuge. But still, he wanted to be sure. "You aren't mad at me, even a little bit?"

A solemn shake of his helm was Prowl's answer. "Not at all."

Bluestreak considered that, his trembling stilling, though he did not move otherwise. Prowl let him think, which he was glad for. But the more he thought, the more troubled he became. He knew better than to let an armed weapon point anywhere but down range. He knew to be careful when handling it, to stay away from the trigger unless intending to fire it. How could he have been so forgetful?

More importantly: how could he keep it from ever happening again?

Completely unknown to Bluestreak, the longer he struggled with those issues, the more his processor strained to make new connections, to forge new synaptic pathways.

"What are you thinking, Bluestreak?" Prowl asked softly.

It might have been his imagination, but the youngling thought he heard a hint of pleased confidence in his guardian's voice. Blinking, Bluestreak focused back on Prowl.

"What happened?" He asked, then frowned. That was not exactly the right question. "I mean, why did I do that? I know better; you've taught me better than that. I don't understand… what happened? Did… did I malfunction?" The last was barely a whisper.

The corner of Prowl's lip plates twitched fractionally and a doorwing flicked faintly. "No. You did not malfunction. It is part of how a mech matures, Bluestreak. You simply became distracted because you are young enough that you do not have sufficient neural linkages to manage more than one complex action at a time. In time, if you keep working at it, it will become less of an issue. That is what this training weapon is for: using it forces you to multi-task with increasingly complex tasks and thus forces your processor to adapt. You are doing well, very well, I actually expected something like this to happen earlier on."

There was a pause as those serene optics continued to study him. "I am proud of how you are doing, Bluestreak."

Bluestreak felt his leg struts weaken at those words and he smiled. If Prowl was proud of him, he could not have done anything too horrible.

Still… he did _not_ want it to happen again.

"I will be more careful, Prowl." He promise with all sincerity.

There was another quirk of a lip plate, bigger this time and, somehow, those sapphire optics warmed even more. "I know you will."

Then Prowl straightened, putting two fingers of his left hand together at the side of his helm, indicating a comm. message. Bluestreak had to fight a wave of disappointment: comm. messages usually meant Prowl had to go to work. But Prowl had an optic ridge quirked when his optics refocused on him, a clear hint of well hidden amusement bubbling under the surface of his control.

"That was Ratchet. He would like to see us when our training session is done." The words were said with a mildness that made it take an extra nanosecond for Bluestreak to register what had been said.

Then Bluestreak lit up. "Oooooh, Yeah! Lets just go now!"

But Prowl shook his helm, that half-smile never wavering. "No. We have fifteen breems left before our session is over."

Bluestreak stared. How could he focus on shooting when he had just been told something like that? "But… I'll be too distracted, I might shoot you again…"

The thought made him shudder.

But Prowl was not troubled by the possibility. In fact, of all things, he actually chuckled. It was short and very brief, but it was a good sound to Bluestreak's audios. "Perhaps. But you will be trying not to and that is what matters." There was a pause in which Bluestreak's doorwings drooped. "I am confident you will be able to overcome this…minor distraction."

" '_Minor'_ distraction?" Bluestreak echoed incredulously, blinking up at his guardian. "But… it's my _first_ frame upgrade."

"Yes." A black finger touched his shoulder and then picked up the small weapon and pressed it into his hands. "And for now it is important that you focus. Distractions will come later in life as well, on the battlefield where your friends' lives will be depending on you. It is important that you start learning how to overcome them now. I do not expect perfection today, Bluestreak, I only expect you to do as good as you can. Distractions not withstanding."

Bluestreak thought for a moment, taking time to soak in the confidence he felt pouring off the older Praxian. Prowl believed he could focus, even if the tantalizing prospect of his first upgrade was hanging just out of reach. He was not sure he could do it, but Prowl was.

Well, he would do his best.

The youngling straightened, lifting his chin a fraction. "I'll do my best."

… … …

"Ironhide… you have been in here every orn at this time for the last decaorn. What on Cybertron has you so enthralled?" Inferno asked as he stopped a respectful distance away from the more massive warrior.

Ironhide's reaction was only to snort an amused, almost satisfied chuckle. "Waiting for _that_."

"For what?" Inferno asked again, crossing his arms at the intruder into the security center.

"Prowl is training Bluestreak to shoot on the short-range training field." Ironhide smiled up at the red mech. "The little slagger is a natural sharp-shooter, for as young as he is. This was the first time he lost concentration enough to fire his rifle unintentionally. Hit Prowl square on the upper chassis."

"Is Bluestreak okay?" Inferno asked, concern evident as he rushed forward to look at the same screen that had engrossed Ironhide. Then, upon seeing that the youngling was happily returning to his exercises, he blinked, recalling what else Ironhide had just said. "It's taken a whole decaorn for this to happen?"

"You heard me." Ironhide shook his helm in both disbelief and appreciation of the youngling's natural abilities.

"Hmm." Inferno took his time to watch as Prowl leaned closer and explained something to Bluestreak, pointing down range. The radiant smile the youngling gave his guardian after his next shot spoke volumes. "As… excitable as he seems, I find it hard to believe Bluestreak would have that much control."

Ironhide just grunted in agreement.

"Nor would I have expected Prowl to handle it so… normally." Inferno added softly.

Ironhide cast a sidelong glance at the red security officer, at the intense frown on the other mech's faceplate, though that scrutiny seemed more directed inward than at the screen he was staring at.

"He seems remarkably…" Inferno trailed off, looking for a word.

"Autobot?" Ironhide prompted.

After a moment's hesitation, Inferno nodded. "More than some Autobots, actually."

Ironhide grunted again. "He _is_ an Autobot, Inferno, has been for a decaorn."

Slowly, Inferno nodded, piecing together his scarce memories and interactions with the former Decepticon. "I know. But still… it is a lot to get used to."

Ironhide was about to reply when an alarm on one of the perimeter beacons went off. The alert was followed immediately by Hound's frustrated voice over the intercom.

"_Can I get some back up? Sideswipe tried to prank Springer and I as we returned from a patrol and, well, Springer didn't take too kindly to it." _There was a pause. _"The little glitch might need a new leg once he's done."_

"I'll take care of this." Ironhide growled, moving for the door. "You figure out what we're going to do with the twin ruffians when I haul them back here."

Inferno released a long-suffering sigh of air through his vents and alerted Red Alert to the incoming pandemonium even as he indicated affirmative to the weapons specialist's order.

It was going to be a long orn.

… … …

Ten breems later Ratchet was glaring at Sunstreaker as he worked on Sideswipe's knee joint. It had been salvageable, thankfully, but it was still annoying. Hound was having to hold Springer back from launching himself at the silver front liner yet again, regardless of the fact Springer was sporting his own mild injuries. Meanwhile, Ironhide was standing like a black shadow by the door, making sure neither of the two Terror Twins escaped their just rewards.

"He isn't even hurt that bad!" Sunstreaker protested for the sixth or seventh time. "This is…"

"You glitch!" Ratchet roared. "When will you get it through that thick processor of yours that creating sink-holes in a frequently used road could have _killed_ him if he hadn't reacted fast enough. And motion-triggered sink-hole collapses at that. What if we had had an attack or alert and an entire unit had been on that road? What if we'd had another influx of Neutrals?"

"But…"

"You can't _do_ that type of thing!" Ratchet cut him off. "You two are the most imbecile, short-sighted piles of living scrap I have _ever_ met."

"Ratchet…." Sideswipe tried to cut in, looking anxiously at the joint Ratchet was working on. But the CMO cuffed him upside the helm and then pointed his wrench back at Sunstreaker.

"I don't care which of you rust-buckets' idea it least _one_ of you should have some shred of common sense."

"Ratchet…"

"Shut up, or I'm going to weld your lip-plates shut!" Ratchet glared at Sideswipe then looked back up at the golden twin. "What do _you_ have to say about this?"

"Give it a rest, Ratchet." Ironhide advised dryly from the doorway. "I don't think anything you say is going to make a scrap of difference."

"Eh, probably not." Ratchet refocused on Sideswipe and gave the bolt a last twist. It was enough to make the warrior wince. "There. Get off my berth and out of my med bay and, Primus help me you two, if either of you end up back in here before the end of the decaorn, I am going to dismantle you and weld your afts to the ceiling and cannibalize the rest of you for spare parts. Out. Now."

"But…" Sideswipe protested, even as he swung his legs off the berth and stood. "I can't even bend my leg, the joint is too tight."

"I know." Ratchet snarled. "Maybe not being able to walk for a few orns until they loosen will teach you to _think_ before you act."

"It won't matter anyway." Ironhide intoned. "You won't need to walk much while you are in the brig."

Sideswipe blinked but both he and Sunstreaker knew better than to argue further. It might have been funny to see Springer flail like some kind of organic insect when he almost fell into the sinkhole, but perhaps it _had_ been a little risky. And neither could deny that pranks that negatively impacted combat readiness of any mech or the base carried a stiff penalty.

Sideswipe looked hesitantly at Springer. "Sorry?"

Springer growled and Ratchet barked. "Out!"

Now sullen, the twin front-line warriors turned to follow Ironhide only to see the large black mech step aside as Prowl and Bluestreak walked in.

Both Praxians quickly assessed the situation while they were in turn being evaluated. It was evident Prowl was instantly aware of the tense environment as he was clearly wary. Bluestreak on the other hand only shied closer to his guardian.

Neither said anything, but they did not have to. Sunstreaker's engine growled angrily and he stepped toward the tactician, though he looked at Ironhide "You have got to be slagging kidding me! It's only been three quartex and you've ended his probation? Are you guys glitched? He…"

"You leave Prowl alone!" Bluestreak yelled at the much larger front line warrior, though his doorwings quivered in either suppressed anger of fear as he stepped away from his guardian, though not too far. "He's not done anything bad since he's been here and he's really…"

"He's a fragging Decepticon. He has no right to wear our symbol!"

'Sunstreaker." Ironhide growled lowly, but his warning was over powered by Bluestreak's shriek of sudden rage as he leapt away from Prowl.

The older Praxian could not stop him before he threw his tiny little frame at the golden twin, wailing at him with each shouted accusation. "You big bully! Stupid! Blind! Meany!"

"Bluestreak!" But the youngling was heedless to his guardian's cry.

Little fists could not hurt the larger warrior, but the sound of paint scraping free of the plating was almost as loud as an explosion would have been. At least in Sunstreaker's audios and it had already been a stressful joor.

The other adults in the med bay, who were already tensing, lurched into action at his enraged snarl over the superficial cosmetic damage and were trying to reach the soon to be one-sided brawl even as Sunstreaker lifted his hand.

But Prowl was there first, his own engine growling menacingly. He caught Sunstreaker's arm before the blow could even be started and expertly separated Bluestreak from the greater threat, pushing the warrior backward to put a safe distance between the two.

When Sunstreaker started to struggle, Prowl swept his legs out from under him and slammed him into the ground, pinning him there with movements that were so swift, none of the other mechs in the med bay saw what happened.

"Get off me!" Sunstreaker growled.

"There was no way he could have hurt you." Prowl replied, his dangerously controlled voice clashing with the image of the golden warrior still trying to thrash beneath him. "You were out of line."

"He scratched my paint!"

"He is a _youngling_!" The menace in Prowl's voice was echoed by the furious hum of his engine. "You will not harm him."

"Get your fragging hands off me!" Sunstreaker yelled, still struggling.

"No." Prowl leaned closer. "Not until you calm down."

The other mechs watched this in stunned silence, even as Ironhide called Inferno for back up. Never in all his time at the base had Prowl demonstrated an ounce of violence toward any Autobot. Of course, Sunstreaker had made the mistake of threatening his charge. Truthfully, they were quietly wondering why Prowl had not torn Sunstreaker apart yet, revamped ethical subroutines or not. Guardian protocols were core programming too, after all. The Praxian should _not_ be this collected.

Naturally, Sunstreaker did not calm down, so Prowl continued to physically restraining him, not even seeming to have any difficulty doing so.

"You should teach that brat not to pick fights he can't win." Sunstreaker hissed, glaring up at Prowl.

"A lesson you have illustrated clearly." Was Prowl's relatively calm reply, which only served to enrage Sunstreaker further. Prowl seemed nonplussed, he only leaned so close his olfactory sensor was inches from Sunstreaker's. "I would also advise you to watch your language, Sunstreaker. If Bluestreak picks up your profanity, I will be most… unhappy."

Prowl's finger's tightened demonstratively around a vulnerable armor seam and reality finally seemed to break through Sunstreaker's mindless anger. He stilled, optics widening fractionally. "Fra… um. You _are_ his guardian, aren't you?"

It was not said as if Sunstreaker were unaware of that fact, only that he just now remembered it. "Yes."

Inferno arrived then, the med bay doors hissing as they opened to admit him. He froze at seeing the scene before him. "What is going on here? Prowl, release Sunstreaker."

Though it was clear it was the last thing he wanted to do, Prowl nonetheless released his grip on the other warrior. He started to stand when Sunstreaker shoved him away with a blow that dented plating on his shoulder in an intentional act of provocation. Considering what they had just witnessed, everyone tensed ready to intervene, but Prowl simply took the blow without reacting, straightening to attention as Sunstreaker levered himself to his own feet.

With a growl, the golden twin braced himself to retaliate against the mech who had openly humiliated him in front of so many witnesses. This time, however, Prowl did not respond to the impending threat, though it was very clear he was aware of it. The sudden change in the Praxian's demeanor stunned everyone. Only Ironhide's and Inferno's quick intervention kept Sunstreaker from attacking Prowl.

"Enough of this." Ironhide growled. "What do you expect when you threaten a youngling but that his guardian will defend him?"

"But… He has no right to be an Autobot!" Sunstreaker hissed.

"He has earned that right." Ironhide corrected, pushing the golden twin toward Inferno. "You are lucky he didn't tear you apart. Take them to the brig, Inferno."

Inferno nodded confirmation, though he cast a speculative glance at Prowl before hauling Sunstreaker away. Sideswipe followed sullenly, limping on the leg that would not bend.

Once they were gone, silence descended on the med bay until it was broken by Bluestreak's frightened whimper as he moved to press himself against Prowl's leg. "Prowl…"

With an apologetic glance at Ironhide, Prowl broke his position of attention and knelt to be at optic level with his charge. "Yes, Bluestreak?"

"I don't understand… If you could do that all this time, why do you let them be so mean to you?"

None of the other mechs so much as cycled air as Prowl released a soft vent. "The mechs at this base have more than enough cause to be angry at me. And, as we discussed my position on the base does not give me the right to retaliate. Regardless, cruel words alone are never reason enough to initiate a fight. I acted to defend you."

"But it isn't fair that you won't defend yourself. Someone should."

The watching mechs were stunned to see a tiny hint of a smile twitch on those usually stoic lip-plates. "Perhaps, Bluestreak, but that someone should not be you, not while you are still a youngling. I would not want you damaged because you decided to attack someone more than three times your size and without having been trained to do so. That would hurt me more than Sunstreaker ever could."

Bluestreak thought about that for a moment and then glanced around at their audience. His doorwings drooped. "I, uh, I got you in trouble, didn't I?"

Prowl put a hand on Bluestreak's shoulder, reclaiming his attention. "Do not fret. I will face it willingly and do so again if necessary to protect you."

With that Prowl stood to face Ironhide, his doorwings flared, but dipped respectfully. It was not the posture of absolute surrender he had adopted so frequently as a paroled POW, but was clearly one of submission all the same.

"You attacked Sunstreaker." Ironhide stated blandly, though both Springer and Hound were still trying to process what they had seen and were still seeing.

"Yes, sir." Prowl agreed calmly.

"And you just said you would do it again."

Prowl hesitated, considering the larger black mech, but there was no use denying the accusation. "If I had no choice I would, if necessary, to Protect Bluestreak."

Prowl could not be sure, but he thought he saw a satisfied glint in Ironhide's optics. True, the weapons specialist had defended him to Sunstreaker, but that did not mitigate the fact that he had violated approximately three separate regulations in that stunt he just pulled. He would not, could not, deny that.

When the black mech just stared at him as if in indecision, he bowed his helm formally. "Ironhide, I am well aware that in acting as I did I violated section 4-B, paragraph 3, and section 8, subsection 10 of General Conduct Code 8.03, as well as General Conduct Code 12.06 section A, paragraph 2, in regards to striking a superior officer." Because, as much as it rankled, even the Twins still out ranked him. "I will not excuse my behavior or attempt to avoid the consequences of my actions."

Each of the mechs present in the med bay just stared at him, including Ratchet, Springer, Hound, First Aid and Ironhide. Unknown to the Praxian, most if not all of those same mechs were secretly glad Sunstreaker had had his aft handed to him, wishing they had been gifted with as valid an excuse to wallop him themselves.

"Come on, Ironhide." Hound ventured after a moment. "You can't deny the lug-nut had it coming."

Ironhide's armor relaxed then and he nodded. "Good point." He looked back at Prowl. "If you hadn't done it, I would have… And I probably wouldn't have been as nice about it."

"I doubt Sunstreaker will forget something like that, though." Springer murmured.

"So long as Bluestreak is left out of it, there will not be a problem." Prowl interjected quietly then louder. "If you will allow, Ironhide, once our consultation with Ratchet is concluded, I will surrender for disciplinary action and…"

"There won't be any discipline." Ironhide cut him off. "You acted in defense of a youngling. I'm not going to punish any mech for that, let alone that youngling's guardian."

Prowl's optics widened in evident surprise before he bowed his helm. "Thank you, sir."

When Bluestreak reached up to grasp his hand, Prowl looked at Ratchet. "Is this still a good time, or should we return later?"

"Now is good." Ratchet looked at his apprentice. "First Aid, see to Springer and then join us."

First Aid nodded and then moved to scan the scout as Ratchet gestured Prowl and Bluestreak to the far side of the med bay. It was as much privacy as the large open area offered. Bluestreak was lifted to stand on one of the exam berths to put him closer to optic level with the adults. They spoke quietly enough to ensure their privacy.

"As you know, supplies for physical frame upgrades are a problem." Ratchet spoke quietly, though his tone was no less serious. "Our projections show that if we proceed at the normal rate and order of traditional frame upgrades, we will not have enough to give him a full-sized adult Praxian frame. The best we would be able to manage would be that of a minibot, unless this accursed war were to end before the end of the next decavorn."

"That is unlikely, unless we loose." Prowl murmured.

"In which case, it won't matter, I know." Ratchet frowned. "But in my research I found that during the war with the Quintessons, it was not uncommon to modify the upgrade schedule."

"How so?" Prowl was truly curious; this was not an aspect of history he was familiar with, though it did not surprise him that every profession had parts of it's past that were not well known outside that specific community.

Ratchet grimaced. "During the height of the war, when supplies were running low, it was not uncommon to transition a sparkling directly to their first adult frames."

Prowl frowned. "That seems… dangerous."

"Normally it would be." Ratchet agreed. "But the medics of that time found that expansions could be added to a sparkling's processor to allow them to continue maturing and that segments of the adult frame's processor could be segmented off and functions of that frame restricted until the youngling matured enough to handle them."

Prowl considered that. "Meaning, that until that youngling could properly handle the responsibility that comes with being an adult, they would only be a youngling in an adult-sized frame."

"Essentially." Ratchet glanced at Bluestreak. "However, the records show that these mechs matured into their adult roles far more quickly than younglings who proceed through the normal schedule. It was such a universal experience that some of the leading medics actually speculated that the traditional upgrade schedule accomplished nothing but the intentional retardation of the maturing process."

"What does all this mean?" Bluestreak asked, leaning against Prowl's shoulder in a clear solicitation for comfort, which Prowl offered him in the form of a hand between his doorwings and a soothing thrum of his engine. It was an intimate level of contact that never ceased to surprise any who witnessed the former Decepticon allowing it.

Prowl looked at his charge. "It seems as if you have two options, Bluestreak. If you choose to upgrade to a youngling frame in the normal manner, you will have no option but to remain a minibot in your adult frame, at least until the war is over. If it is your wish to ensure you have a normal-sized adult Praxian frame we will need to delay your upgrade while allowing you to continue maturing with a processor expansion and then transition directly into your adult frame."

Bluestreak's lip plates pressed together as he considered this. "Minibot… like Jazz?"

Prowl nodded.

"I don't like being small." Bluestreak peered up at his guardian. "How long would I have to wait with the second option?"

Prowl looked at Ratchet, passing the question to him. "That would depend, Bluestreak." Ratchet answered gently. "Probably at least another vorn, but maybe longer. We would start collecting materials for your adult frame immediately and keep it in store for when you are ready, in order to make sure it is available when the time comes."

Bluestreak nodded and was silent for another long moment and the adults let him think. "I won't be able to defend myself as a youngling, would I? If I needed to?" He asked suddenly.

"No, you would continue to need a guardian until you were well established in your adult frame." Ratchet concurred.

Bluestreak's optics widened. "But, if I went straight to an adult frame… What about then?"

Ratchet blinked, not understanding the question, but Prowl thought he did. "I will not stop being your guardian until you no longer have need of one, even if you are in an adult frame. Do not worry about that."

Bluestreak relaxed visibly and nodded, pressing his helm against Prowl's shoulder. Again the adults allowed the silence to hang as he continued to think.

Prowl had said he should not pick fights with mechs that were bigger than him, but if he were still a youngling, or a minibot, bullies like Sunstreaker would _always_ be bigger than him. And Prowl had made it clear that he would not defend himself from meanies like that, and he didn't want Prowl to always have to protect him. And he was a Praxian; Praxians weren't minibots. And he still wanted to be a sniper, he doubted minibots could be snipers because they were just to small to have very big rifles. If he wanted to be a spy or a scout, the small size would not matter, but that idea was too scary. Better to be a sniper when he grew up. Shooting was fun, sneaking around was… not.

But he was tired of being a sparkling, he wanted a bigger frame. But if he did that right now he'd be stuck as a minibot in the long run. That was _not_ the way to get a bigger frame. But if he upgraded to an adult frame, he would not be able to play with Bumblebee any more, at least not the same way he always had.

He sighed a long gust of air and looked at Prowl, to see that those calm blue optics were still regarding him. There was no pressure in that gaze and Bluestreak knew Prowl would support him no matter what choice he made.

It was a surprising comfort. It was almost enough to make him wish that he never had to move to an adult frame, just to always have that strength, that stabilizing presence so close at hand. Maybe Prowl would continue to offer that support even after he was fully adult? Even if he did not need a guardian? But now was not the time to ask.

That made him think of something else however, though he was not entirely sure why.

Ironhide had said once that there were not that many Praxians left now, that Megatron had killed almost all of them. Prowl said it was normal for him to miss and grieve for his creators. But he was tired of grieving. He wanted to do something to remember and honor their memories. His creators were Praxian too.

He would wait so that he could have a full-sized adult Praxian frame. In honor of his creators. And of Prowl.

Prowl seemed to sense when he had made a decision and nodded encouragingly. Bluestreak looked up at Ratchet. "I'm Praxian. I want to look like a Praxian when I am an adult. I will wait and upgrade directly to that frame."

Ratchet nodded in easy acceptance. "Then I will get Wheeljack busy working on your adult doorwings. Those supplies will probably be the first to run short. Let me prepare your processor expansion and I will bring you back for that upgrade."

"Um, Ratchet…" Bluestreak asked, suddenly unsure. "Do, I mean, can I make a request as to what my adult frame will look like?"

Ratchet blinked, but then nodded. "I can't make promises, because a lot will depend on what parts I am able to get. What exactly do you have in mind?"

Bluestreak started to speak, then frowned. "I would like to look like my creators… like… like a mix of the two. I… I want a part of them to survive."

Prowl and Ratchet just stared at him, both were surprised that he was speaking of his deceased creators so openly, even if it was in a halting manner.

The medic found he wanted to honor such a request, but there was no way for the youngling to show him what his creators looked like except through an interface because sparkling and first stage youngling frames did not have internal communications systems. Nor did they have cords to allow them to download a file directly to a datapad. The seekers had managed to destroy Praxus' central database and archives, so it was not even possible for them to find a historical record.

"We do not know what your creators looked like, Bluestreak." Ratchet murmured regretfully.

"But _I_ know." Bluestreak blinked innocently, then his face fell. "But I don't have a way to share that image file with you, do I?"

Bluestreak looked down, obviously deep in thought and the two adults glanced at each other as they waited for the youngling to figure out what he was struggling with.

After half a breem, Bluestreak looked up at Prowl, putting one hand tentatively on Prowl's chassis. "I remember reading in one of the datapads a decaorn ago that it is possible for mechs to share data, like pictures and things… like when you use your comm. to talk to other mechs."

"You do not have a communications transmitter, Bluestreak." Prowl reminded gently.

Bluestreak nodded. "But you and other adults do, you also have those data cords, you can download information from computers and… like you created the programs on the training room computer. And I read somewhere that two mechs can transmit large data files directly with each other that way too. Won't something like that work?"

Ratchet and Prowl could only stare at Bluestreak, neither adult believing what they had just been asked.

"Bluestreak, external synchronizations are not allowed for sparklings except in emergencies. Your frame can't… support the hardware to allow you to sync with another individual, nor the software to buffer such a connection." Ratchet explained patiently, though his frame heated fractionally with stress as he sensed where this conversation was going.

"But…" A soft keen escaped Bluestreak's systems. "But it can be done, you just said so. I… Could you do it, Prowl?" Bluestreak asked, perking up.

"That would be very uncomfortable for you, dangerous even, if I..." Prowl's doorwings flared in alarm. "I do not want to hurt you, Bluestreak."

"You won't. I know you won't."

Prowl released a vent of air. "Bluestreak, I have had that type of connection done to me numerous times, I _know_ it will hurt you and I don't want to do that."

"But I trust you." Bluestreak's optics were wide. "And even if it hurts a little, I know you won't mean to."

Prowl stared into those pleading young optics and felt his spark ache. He shuttered his gaze and tipped his helm, letting it rest on Bluestreak's own. "Is it safe, Ratchet?"

Ratchet's voice was likewise strained. "If you are careful. He won't have any firewalls, so…" He let his voice trail off.

"Bluestreak, please reconsider." Prowl did not un-shutter his optics, only to feel a small hand press against his cheek plating.

"Please?"

Prowl let his optics online again, looking at Bluestreak. "Why is this so important to you?"

"I miss them." Bluestreak answered quietly. "I don't want to risk forgetting them and… I was always told I was like a perfect mix between them and I always wanted to look like them when I got my adult frame, but especially now because… because I want something of them to survive the destruction of our home. Please?"

If he were going to wait and upgrade along the normal schedule, by the time he was in his third youngling frame he would have been able to transmit the memory files himself. But he had chosen to wait; trapped in this very restrictive sparkling frame, and Prowl knew that. It was a sacrifice that impressed Prowl, as did his bravery in taking the intimidating leap of upgrading directly from sparkling into his adult frame.

As much as his processors protested the idea, he knew he would honor such a request. In truth, Bluestreak asked very little for himself, and had never asked something Prowl was so reluctant to give. But Prowl likewise carried within himself the indescribable weight of grief and loss and, even if he could not express or process that grief properly now, he understood Bluestreak's desire to the core of his spark.

Hesitantly, Prowl withdrew his cord, hoping Ratchet would stop him, holding it pinched between his fingers between them. Bluestreak looked down at it and when Prowl made no move beyond that reached for it. Prowl surrendered it silently, aware that Ironhide, Springer, First Aid and Hound were now watching with muted alarm, their own conversations forgotten.

"It will be alright." Bluestreak assured as he reached back to finger the port at the base of his neck and then awkwardly pushed the cord's connector into the port.

It took a moment, but once the connection was made, Prowl found himself resisting the automatic synchronization process. It was not something he could stop once the connection was made, but he fought it, slowing it as much as possible so as not to overwhelm the youngling. It was difficult to do, painful even, like trying to contain an explosion within his mind and awareness, but he tenaciously hung on, refusing to let go.

Once it was finished, he paused, looking at Bluestreak carefully in the physical world. His optics were wide, though not necessarily in pain or horror.

"Are you alright?" He asked softly, aware his concern was flowing back across the hardline connection, feeling his tanks churn at knowing he was not just in another mech's processor, but in a _youngling's_.

Bluestreak nodded, though it was clear he was distracted. _~Can you hear me think?~_

The question was so innocently curious Prowl could not stop the incredulous chuckle that barely breathed out of his vents. _~Yes, I can, when your thoughts are deliberate and directed at me. I can pick up your feelings too.~_ He replied in kind, directing the unspoken thoughts to the youngling. _~Am I hurting you?~_

A negative impression flowed across the link, then a more hesitant, almost tumultuous flicker of concern. _~What are you going to have to do next? What do I have to do?~_

Prowl released a vent of air. Right. Do what he needed to do as quickly but as carefully and gently as possible and then get out before he could cause unintentional damage to the young processor. _~I need you to pick a memory file you want me to copy, one that has a clear image of your creators.~_

There was a pause. _~Okay, I know which one.~_

Prowl cringed fractionally, knowing what came next. _~Show me.~_

Another moment passed before Bluestreak figured out what Prowl was asking him to do, then a pathway lit up before him. It was to one of his earliest memories. That meant it was a longer pathway, but it was relatively straight and uncluttered, which meant it was a memory that Bluestreak replayed often, perhaps a favorite. Another resigned sigh of air washed out of his systems.

_~Try not to resist, it will make this less… uncomfortable.~_ He hesitated. _~I am sorry."_

With that, Prowl started to follow the illuminated pathway, being very diligent to stay exactly on it, watching his charge carefully for the tiniest hint of pain. He would disconnect immediately if he needed to, even if it left his own mind fragmented to do so from so deeply within the other's processor.

While he felt Bluestreak react to his mental presence, it was with more curiosity than discomfort, though the discomfort was there.

He found the file and was very conscientious about copying it without risking a fragmentation of it. He would be slagged and sent to the smelter before he would _ever_ do that to Bluestreak. Finishing the process, Prowl followed the illuminated path exactly once more as he retreated to the fringes of Bluestreak's mind.

_~How are you doing?~ _He asked, hesitantly, not sure he wanted to know.

_~I see what you mean by it being unpleasant, and I can definitely see how it could have been a whole lot worse, but I could tell you were being careful so I don't really mind.~_ Bluestreak paused and Prowl felt the youngling's embarrassment. _~I kinda like being able to talk to you like this, it is so much easier to know what you are feeling this way. I always knew you were kind and nice and that you cared about me and everything, but I can __**feel**__ it like this and… I do like that.~_

Prowl just stared at him, then fractionally relaxed the hold he had been keeping over his own emotions. He might not be able to express his affection for Bluestreak openly because of that fragging glitch in his command cortex, but he _could_ show it like this.

Bluestreak's optics widened even more as that affection and concern and steely determination to protect and provide bled through the one-way connection. Then, to the surprise of everyone in the room, he squealed in joy.

The next thing Prowl knew, Bluestreak had leapt off the berth to cling to his neck in a desperate hold that spoke of how much Bluestreak had actually been needing this level of affirmation. That realization sent a pang of guilt through Prowl's spark that unintentionally got transmitted to Bluestreak.

_~Don't feel bad.~_ The youngling's will pressed against his, reminding Prowl unintentionally that he was an invading presence. _~You explained why you have to be careful about your emotions. But I __**know **__now, and I'll remember, and someday you can show me how to do this type of thing when it can be done both ways like I read about.~_

_~I promise.~ _Prowl sure as pit did not want someone like Jazz or, Primus forbid, the Twins teach Bluestreak how to do that type of thing. No, the youngling would need to learn how to _defend_ his mind if necessary and he was not about to let another mech teach him _that_. "I'm going to disconnect now." He spoke softly.

Bluestreak actually managed to look disappointed and relieved at the same time, though he did not so much as flinch when Prowl removed his cord. Prowl did, however. He had put so much concentration into not overwhelming or hurting Bluestreak that _his_ processor throbbed painfully from the effort.

"Are you alright, Bluestreak?" Ratchet asked, flicking a warning look at Prowl even as he ran a scan over the small frame.

Prowl did not respond to the unspoken threat but to dip his doorwings submissively. If he had hurt Bluestreak in any way, he _wanted_ them to rip him apart.

Bluestreak rubbed a palm along the side of his helm. "I'm a little sore, I guess, but it isn't bad." Then he frowned at the medic. "I think Prowl is more concerned about me and more caring for me and more careful than _you_ think. I _know_ it now. _He_ wouldn't hurt me."

Ratchet smiled faintly at that. "It is not a matter of concern or care, Bluestreak." Ratchet considered Prowl carefully, and still the Praxian did not move, his gaze was averted as if awaiting judgment. "What he just did is very difficult and because of that, very dangerous. If I did not trust his intentions toward you, I never would have allowed it."

"You _shouldn't_ have." Ironhide growled walking up, giving Prowl a dark glare. "You, with me. Now."

Keeping his overall body language that of respectful acquiescence, Prowl nodded and looked at Ratchet, compressing and transmitting the image. Even so, that stoic mask reasserted itself over his expression as he focused on Bluestreak.

"Stay with Ratchet, Bluestreak. I have sent him the image and he will discuss frame design with you." _/Please./_ He sent to the medic, digitally indicating the now glowering black mech.

Ratchet's optics darted to Ironhide and he sent back a digital signal of understanding and agreement before smiling down at the blue and gray youngling. "Absolutely, lets go to my office, Bluestreak."

Confident that Bluestreak would be kept sufficiently distracted, Prowl turned and walked out of the med bay, aware that Ironhide followed him like a stalking predator.

Ironhide stopped just outside as the door hissed shut behind him, but Prowl continued for another dozen meters or more.

"Prowl!" Ironhide called after him with a warning rumble.

Prowl stopped, looking back, his exterior calm and controlled. He fully expected this confrontation to be louder than just a conversation. "Bluestreak is a Praxian, Ironhide. Unless you want him to overhear this, you need to put more distance between us and that door."

Ironhide growled, but stalked toward him, closing the distance between them. Prowl held still, even though every instinctual subroutine in his coding was telling him to back away. Large black hands closed around his collar struts and Prowl let himself be shoved roughly against the nearby wall.

"Are you glitched?" Ironhide demanded voice fierce with emotion. "You _scanned_ a youngling. A _youngling,_ Prowl! Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? What you could have done to him if you had lost concentration for even just a _fraction_ of an astrosecond? Do you?"

Prowl felt his dorsal plating buckling painfully with each additional shove against the unforgiving metal of the wall, delivered in time with the cadence of Ironhide's rant and did not resist. Ironhide was right; it had been a foolishly risky thing to do. He deserved Ironhide's attempt to beat some sense into him.

"I know." Prowl's voice strained against the arm pinning him to the wall. "It was a foolish thing to do and I can give no justification for my actions except how important it was to Bluestreak for me to have the file he gave me…"

Ironhide's engine growled furiously, silencing Prowl in conjunction with another rough shove against the wall. "He didn't _give_ you anything. He _couldn't_. You _took_ it, even if he wanted you to take it. What you did was… was…"

"Inexcusable." Prowl supplied in a hiss of pained static.

The aggressive flare of Ironhide's armor relaxed but he did not soften his hold. "Then why did you do it?"

Unspoken was the clear worry that their confidence in Prowl had been premature and Prowl lowered his gaze, averting it respectfully.

"Bluestreak will not be able to upgrade normally, the realities of war have stolen that from him." He spoke softly, aware he was about to provide condemning evidence against himself. "Of the limited available options, he has chosen to delay upgrading so that he can go directly into his adult frame."

Ironhide hissed air through his vents, optics widening in shock. Prowl nodded. "He wants his adult frame to look as much like his creators as possible. That was the only way to obtain the image."

Ironhide only stared at him for a long moment. "It was still a reckless chance to take."

"Yes, it was." Prowl agreed, wincing at the discomfort radiating from the dents in his dorsal plating.

"By all rights, I should throw you in the brig with the Twins and let them have at you." Black hands tightened threateningly on his armor.

"I would not deny I deserve such a punishment."

That clearly brought Ironhide up, though he growled lowly, leaning closer. "If you _ever_ do something like that to Bumblebee…" A grinding, choking noise cut off his vocalizer.

"I would not expect to survive." Prowl whispered.

"You _wouldn't_." Ironhide confirmed.

"Agreed." Prowl met Ironhide's smoldering optics and in that moment, though nothing in his outward appearance indicated it was so, Ironhide knew, without doubt, that Prowl was equally if not _more_ troubled by what he had just done than he was.

Abruptly, Ironhide released Prowl.

Neither mech moved for a long moment, then Ironhide stepped back. Still, the two continued to stare at each other, neither one quite knowing what to do next.

"If you are finished with me, I should probably return to Bluestreak." Prowl murmured softly.

For a moment Ironhide was tempted to find out what would happen if he said he was not, but it was clear from Prowl's demeanor and attitude that he would not resist any further discipline. Actually, he would probably accept it willingly.

"Yes." Ironhide growled lowly, the depth of his emotion over this issue boiling behind his optics. "If he was hurt or traumatized by this stunt…"

"I will welcome anything you wish to do to me." Prowl supplied when words failed Ironhide.

Ironhide blinked, but found that he believed the Praxian. With a nod, the weapons specialist gestured Prowl to precede him back through the med bay doors. With a full system's draft of air, Prowl stepped through the portal.

And almost ran chassis to chassis with Hound, who had clearly been waiting for him. The scout's optics blazed.

"What did you think you were doing?" The words hissed out of the olive-green mech, barely audible.

Prowl winced, somehow having forgotten that both Springer and Hound had also been witness to what had happened. He hesitated in answering and stiffened as Springer stepped up to join Hound, armor flared angrily on both of them.

Frag, had he ruined what little standing he had with these mechs?

"And you call yourself and Autobot?" Springer demanded.

He was surrounded and his ethical coding would not allow Prowl to defend himself, especially since all three of them were higher ranking than he. He wanted to protest, but the inaudible vibration in the air from their revving engines was enough to keep him quiet. He froze, taking up a neutral, non-threatening stance.

"Stand down, Springer, Hound." Ironhide rumbled softly but without kindness. "You don't know the whole story."

"Then tell us." Hound demanded. "This is the mech who will be planning our missions. But he… he… just…."

"Scanned a youngling's mind." Prowl provided softly, looking at the other former enforcer. "Because of circumstances, it was the best option available. It is not something I have any intention of doing again."

"I would hope not." Springer spit the words out and Prowl dropped his gaze, chastened. "A youngling, Prowl, for Primus sake."

"He knows that." Ironhide snapped, then grew thoughtful. "Prowl, get on a berth, you need that plating popped out."

Prowl almost protested, but realized Bluestreak would worry if he saw the minor cosmetic damage and nodded mutely. The larger, black mech waved First Aid over and gestured at Prowl's back.

Perhaps made a little nervous by the audience, First Aid nonetheless frowned at seeing Prowl. Then his own engine revved and he closed the distance between him and his patient with determined steps. With a snarl he flicked on the magnetic restraints with quick, sharp movements.

There was no indication that he was afraid of Prowl, rather that he was getting his own chinks out of Prowl's plating over the matter. Recognizing that, Prowl said nothing as the junior medic paced around him to look at his back, his very minute stiffening his only reaction to the magnetic locks holding him in place. He would not have resisted in any case, but he knew the restraints were the younger medic's way of venting his own outrage at the situation and thus held his peace.

In a manner that was eerily Ratchet-like and almost completely alien to First Aid's normal persona, the younger medic started popping out dents with a vengeance. He was not particularly careful about trying to avoid causing extra pain.

In fact, it seemed like he might have been trying to make it hurt as much as possible.

This was confirmed as he leaned close to Prowl's audio as he worked and proceeded to give him a thorough run down, in very biting, very explicit language of every medical reason why scanning a youngling's processor, except in an emergency, was not only dangerous it should be criminal.

Prowl listened to the passionate lecture without comment, enduring the painful work on his dorsal plating without protest. The other three mechs were shocked to hear and see First Aid, of all mechs, talking and acting like that, and to a former Decepticon like Prowl no less. It spoke of his underlying trust in Prowl's acceptance of the abuse. Even more remarkable was watching Prowl take the verbal and physical harangue, especially after having witnessed his dealing with Sunstreaker.

When he was finished with Prowl's back, but before he released the restraints, First Aid circled back around to face Prowl, still glowering at the tactician. "Well?"

"I am sorry, First Aid." Was Prowl's meek, softly spoken reply.

"Yeah well…" First Aid suddenly deflated. "Bluestreak's the one you should apologize to."

Prowl reacted then, vents flaring in evident alarm. "Is he harmed?"

First Aid blinked then shook his helm, stepping back a fraction. "No. Apparently not. Primus only knows how you managed it, but he is unharmed."

All four mechs relaxed at hearing that, including Prowl. "Thank you, First Aid."

First Aid looked at Prowl, his optics wide and even Hound and Springer drew back. First Aid had been anything but gentle while working on a very sensitive area on a Praxian frame and Prowl thanked him for it?

First Aid suddenly flinched away, looking down, his armor flattening in a clear sign of remorse. Prowl moved, as if intending to reach out for the young medic, but his hands were trapped to the berth by the magnetic restraints. Air gusted through the Praxian's vents, but he still did not complain.

Instead he looked back up at Ratchet's apprentice, "First Aid…"

When First Aid slowly lifted his gaze back to Prowl's no one in the room moved, not wanting to break the moment. "Prowl, I… I…"

"Do not apologize, First Aid." Prowl assured him. "Everything you said was absolutely true, it is a warning I shall not soon forget."

"But… but I…"

"You repaired me when you really wanted to beat the slag out of me." Prowl's lip plate quirked faintly. "I appreciate that."

First Aid fidgeted uneasily and then reached for the controls to the magnetic restraints, but Ratchet's furious comm. message – transmitted on an open frequency that all the adult mechs received – stopped him mid-motion.

_/Don't let that glitched slag-heap up just yet./_

First Aid jerked his hand back as if it had been seared by plasma and everyone else startled as well. Then, as assumptions were made as to just _why_ Ratchet might have done that, four engines revved in unspoken warning and threat. Prowl felt the sudden hostility in the room like a tangible thing.

Likewise, Prowl, coming to the same conclusions as the other Autobots – even though Bluestreak had seemed fine earlier – shuddered. His optics shuttered and he forced his frame into a completely submissive posture, for all that he was virtually immobilized, as he awaited the CMO's arrival.

It was a tense breem before the door to Ratchet's office finally opened and the CMO stepped across its threshold. He paused to glance back inside then shut the portal.

Ratchet turned and stalked toward the gathered mechs only to slow, reading their body language and postures. He released a short vent of air. "Bluestreak is fine. He's only looking over specifications for integrated weapons and what his chosen frame can handle."

Most of the tension, or rather the tension in every mech _except_ the one still locked to the berth, evaporated and flared armor relaxed as aggressive stances eased.

Sensing that, Ratchet focused fully on Prowl, storming up to loom over him. "Lucky for you, his processor is as mature as it is. That was risky enough I should smelt you and then smelt myself for letting it happen… fragging extreme emotional appeal; the little slagger…"

Ratchet trailed off, considering Prowl who had never deviated from his completely acquiescent position and realized Prowl looked as if he expected to be physically browbeaten. It had been a stressful joor, the CMO did not have the patience for this.

With a growl Ratchet's hand snapped out to snag Prowl's chin-plating, yanking his helm upward, forcing the white and black mech to meet his still simmering gaze. It was enough to pull him uncomfortably against the restraints holding him to the berth, but Prowl allowed no indication of that discomfort to show.

Prowl merely met Ratchet's optics obediently, silent and waiting for whatever was coming next.

He did not have to wait long. "I know you must have one _pit_ of a processor ache after keeping as tight a control as you must have done because he actually considered _that_ a positive experience." Those fingers tightened painfully on delicate metal plating as Ratchet leaned closer. "Now you listen to me. I don't care that everything went fine _this_ time. I don't want you _ever_ doing that again, not until he is in his adult frame. I don't care if he asks you to…and he just might. Do. You. Understand. Me?

"Yes, medic." Prowl's voice was strained.

Black and chartreuse fingers tightened even more, the metal beneath them warping and protesting painfully. "Give me your word that you will obey this order, Prowl."

Prowl's vent's flared, realizing Ratchet was forcing him to bind himself through his ethical programming. It was a direct order, one he was compelled to obey as it did not conflict with his core coding. Once he gave his word to a superior officer however, he was bound even more tightly.

Regardless, Prowl did not even hesitate. "I will not violate your order, Medic. I will not initiate an interface with Bluestreak until he is in his adult frame and requests it. I will not risk jeopardizing any youngling in this manner again. You have my word."

Ratchet blinked. That oath was more restrictive than the one he had requested. He let go of Prowl's face and stepped back. The CMO carefully evaluated the Praxian before him, the slight tremble in his doorwings, the cautious yet accepting posture he continued to maintain. Then his optics fell on the red Autobot symbol so recently embossed on the tactician's chassis.

This was not a Decepticon; this was an Autobot. He had no doubt taken the risk for the very same reason Ratchet had stupidly allowed it; that made Prowl no less evil than he. He had taken rather drastic measures to prevent harming Bluestreak: his careful and tactful questioning of Bluestreak testified to that. And yet, it was also clear Prowl was in no way balking at taking the heat for his choice. Actually, if Ratchet did not miss his guess, he would bet that Prowl was berating himself far more harshly than any of them could.

With a sigh of air, Ratchet reached into his subspace and pulled out a small magnetic stylus and reached for Prowl again. The Praxian started to flinch away, but caught himself, forcing himself to remain still as Ratchet expertly ran the stylus over the delicate plating he had just dented.

Prowl's optics widened as he realized what Ratchet was doing, and that he was doing so with notable gentleness. Then he stepped back, motioning Prowl to his pedes.

"Umm, right." First Aid hastily reached out and deactivated the restraints.

Ratchet looked at his apprentice in surprise. "You held him down?"

"Well… uh…" First Aid suddenly looked uncertain. "I mean, it seemed like the best choice at the time. And, um, well, you said not to let him up and I, uh, just thought..."

Ratchet cleared his vents. "I just did not want him getting off the berth, I didn't mean you had to _restrain_ him to it. He's an Autobot, First Aid, not a Decepticon prisoner. He would have followed orders to stay there."

First Aid looked positively abashed and Prowl cleared his vents, slipping off the berth onto his pedes. "Do not judge him too harshly, Ratchet. He was just as upset as you, and rightly so. I begrudge nothing."

Ratchet harrumphed then turned with all five of them as Bluestreak walked out of Ratchet's office, having managed to trigger the door controls by standing on the tips of his pedes and reaching as far up as he could. When he saw Prowl his optics lit up and he hurried forward, brandishing the datapad.

"Prowl, look at this! This is what I'm going to look like when I upgrade!" Prowl knelt, very aware of the five sets of optics on him as he did so, and accepted the tablet.

The frame was thinner than his own, more sleek and with less bulk, built for speed and precision, not necessarily for taking hits like an Enforcer's frame. The doorwings that arched upward were almost perfect replicas of his own – a fact that almost teased a smile out of him – and then he saw the weapon. It was, like the frame, sleek and deadly, designed for pinpoint accuracy over long ranges; a sniper's weapon. The colors matched almost perfectly his current paint and design.

"Impressive, Bluestreak. Very well thought out." He murmured approvingly and was rewarded by a quick embrace and a pleased trill.

Then Bluestreak seemed to become aware of the intense scrutiny of the other mechs around them. "Um… what's going on?"

"Nothing at the moment." Prowl assured, standing. He looked at Ratchet. "Thank you, Ratchet. Can I assume we are free to leave?"

Ratchet glanced at Ironhide and then nodded. "There is no reason for you to stay. I should have the processor expansion in an orn or two."

Prowl acknowledged this with a nod and then nodded to Ironhide. He glanced at the two scouts and could see the hints of uncertainty that had been reborn in their optics. At least it was not nearly as bad as it could have been.

* * *

_My perspective as to why an interface would not be conducted with a youngling, as explained by Ratchet, is because their frame can't support the hardware (the cord mainly) and the software (firewalls and malware protection... after all, we are dealing with a growing, developing processor here, we start constraining it by putting a firewall around it's coding and you might retard that development.) Likewise, the danger of having a mech interface with a developing processor I would imagine would be like this: The young processor might react to the discomfort by establishing a proto-firewall to protect itself (like a broken bone creates a calcium deposit around the fracture to try and protect it while it heals) which would cause problems with further development. Not to mention the mental anguish a poor youngling would experience if say, their mind was fragmented accidentally. _

_Anyway, if you think everyone's reactions were too harsh on Prowl here, keep in mind that Younglings are becoming a rare commodity because Megatron is trying to kill them all... and this former Decepticon would take such a risk? There was also the fear that he had betrayed their trust, even if they (mostly) get over that concern. And Bluestreak is a child... how many of us would not get absolutely irate if we even thought it possible someone we were beginning to trust had mentally abused a child right in front of us... and we could do nothing about it till after the fact because if we interrupted we might accidentally cause the very same damage we wanted to avoid? (ie: They could not interrupt once the hardline connection was made because if they distracted Prowl... yeah. Not good.)_

___As an aside (an an explanation as to why most of my chapters are NOT this long): when chapters get longer than9,000 words, it becomes difficult to edit them effectively, especially with the constraints on my time right now. In fact, I never had the time to actually sit down edit this all the way through from start to finish at once, so I hope the end result was not as choppy as it felt doing it. That said, I hope that if any of you notice something glaring you will let me know… and if you don't notice anything that you will still take the time to share your thoughts. :)_


	30. Managing Risks I

Early the next orn, Prowl almost dreaded the necessary trip to the rec room to obtain his and Bluestreak's morning energon. He was due to report to Smokescreen about the progress he had made regarding Megatron's impending attack to capture him. The fact that, even after a decavorn of planning and several additional orns of intelligence gathering, he still had nothing conclusive did not sit well in his tanks. That unease was only compounded by a growing anxiety about facing the rumors he was sure had been spread concerning his scan of Bluestreak's processor the previous night.

Bluestreak, thankfully, seemed rather oblivious to the possible complications. At least the Twins were still in the brig, though he had a feeling he would be facing the golden warrior again soon enough because Springer had been right; Sunstreaker was definitely one to hold a grudge.

As usual, there were few mechs active at the early joor, for which Prowl was even more thankful for than normal.

He waited while Bluestreak retrieved his cube and scampered for their usual table in the corner. The youngling had been even happier than was his normal – a state easily attributable to his impending upgrade – but he had also lost the almost hyperactive edge to his demeanor as well. It was as if he had finally found a measure of peace that he had tried to cover with enthusiasm before. Oh, he still spoke almost incessantly, but it was not with the same breathless ramble that it had been till that point.

When Prowl had asked what had changed, Bluestreak had been unable to really explain, only mumbling something about _knowing_. Prowl assumed, based on what the little one had said during and immediately following his scan, that it had something to do about that. If so, he resolved that, as potentially dangerous as it had been, he would not regret having done it. That did not change the fact that he would _not_ do it again.

Another mech walked into the rec room and Prowl paused, recognizing the spark signature. It was Hound.

As if Hound had been looking for him, the olive green scout walked directly toward him. Prowl was aware that Bluestreak was instantly alert, watching warily, but Prowl shifted his doorwings in a way that told the youngling to remain calm and stay where he was.

Bluestreak settled back into his chair as Prowl turned to face Hound.

Hound hesitated, just outside what would normally be considered polite 'personal space' and though his vents flared gently, his armor stayed tight to his frame. "Prowl…"

When the scout failed to continue, looking decidedly unsure and yet determined, Prowl allowed his doorwings to dip slightly. "Yes, Hound?" He asked softly.

"I… I realized that I had misjudged you once before." Hound spoke quickly, not meeting Prowl's gaze. "It dawned on me that… that I might have done so again. I know more happened last night than met the optic, Ratchet told us that much after you left. I… I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions."

Prowl released a long draft of air. "I understand why it would have been easy to reach such conclusions."

"Still… If there was a valid reason…" Hound glanced up at his face then he looked irritated. "If there was a valid reason you didn't have to let us go on haranguing you like that."

Prowl blinked. "What other option did I have?"

It was Hound's turn to blink then his engine revved unhappily. "You aren't a prisoner any more. You don't have to act like one just because you're accused of something."

"I am still unranked and that means I am in no position to object when those above me…"

An irritated cough of Hound's vents cut Prowl off, as did the flicker of emotion in his optics. "We are _not_ like the Decepticons, Prowl. Just because you have no rank among us does not mean you have no _rights_."

Prowl cocked an optic ridge and gently shook his helm. "Perhaps, _if_ I were any other mech. But what do you think would happen if I really did make a stand, especially if every one else were convinced I had done something morally unconscionable?"

Hound opened his mouth to reply then stopped himself. He released a gust of air and nodded slowly, miserably. "I guess you are right. It shouldn't be like that forever though, right? I mean given enough time, once you have proven yourself sufficiently, you can be… well… _normal_ about stuff like that."

"And how much will be sufficient?" Prowl asked though there was no hint of emotion one way or another in his voice.

"I…" Hound looked away.

"Exactly." Prowl offered him a tiny shake of his helm and a barely-there, self-depreciating smile. "I may be an Autobot now, Hound, but I am very much aware I am still on probation. Yesterday proved as much."

Hound thought about that for a moment and then shook his own helm. "Not really. I mean I think I would have been just as upset if it had been anyone else. Same thing with Springer and… honestly I don't think First Aid would have been nearly as bold if it had been anyone else because he would have been too frightened of them to let his true feelings show. Doesn't mean he wouldn't have _felt_ the same way, he just would have internalized it more. Ironhide… well, that's just Ironhide. And Ratchet… I actually think he was more angry at himself than he was at you, you just happened to be an available target. Chances are, if the Twins hadn't already slagged him off, he wouldn't have gotten as riled up at you. Ratchet's like that sometimes, as many of us can testify to personally."

Prowl just stared at Hound, not sure how to take or process what he had said. His immediate reaction was to dismiss the scout's claims as a misguided attempt to make him feel more at ease. However, in seeing the serious, almost pleading look in the scout's optics, he obligingly re-evaluated the previous evening through that lens.

It _was_ possible, he decided, but he was not convinced it was safe to assume it was so. Not at this juncture.

At length he released a long sigh of air and averted his gaze. "While I do not doubt your assertions Hound, you understand that I am reluctant to believe it is that simple."

"Why?" Hound demanded, sounding increasingly upset and exasperated. "Why do you have to believe you have a big red target on your back when it comes to us? You are one of us now."

Prowl only just managed to keep his doorwings from flinching at the olive-green mech's tone, especially as the outburst drew the attention of the handful of mechs in the rec room.

"Hound…" Prowl spoke quietly, but knew his words were being heard by everyone in the suddenly quiet lounge. "You have worked with me on multiple missions, but most mechs on this base have not. Your perspective is different than the majority's. Sunstreaker proved that my inclusion in Autobot ranks is not unanimously accepted. You cannot deny that there are still more optics looking for a reason to denounce me as the monster I once was than there are those willing to accept my change of spark as genuine. For the time being, it is simply safer to assume the worst and behave accordingly."

Hound just stared at him. "That is… depressing."

Prowl shrugged minutely with one doorwing. "It is reality. Allowing myself to become emotional over it will not change it. As you said; perhaps, given enough time, it will improve. I have that hope at least."

Something changed in Hound's optics then, a subtle shift that Prowl was not sure how to interpret, and the scout nodded slow, reluctant acceptance of Prowl's quiet declaration.

When that was all, and Hound said nothing else, Prowl indicated Bluestreak with the hand that held the energon cube. "If you will excuse me?"

Hound looked that direction and then nodded, stepping aside, out of the way. "Of course."

Once Prowl stepped past him, however, Hound spoke again. "You are wrong about something."

Prowl cocked an optic ridge, turning back.

Hound nodded again, firmly. "I don't think that 'most' mechs are looking for a reason to condemn you now. I think most are hoping your conversion is true but are hesitant to fully trust that it is just yet. That's a big difference."

"It is." Prowl agreed softly, considering Hound carefully.

Hound smiled ruefully, clearly sensing Prowl's skepticism. "You'll see. Have a good orn, Prowl."

"Likewise, Hound." Prowl murmured and then watched as the other former Enforcer turned and left the rec room with the same amount of determination he had entered it with.

Prowl watched him go, almost bemused, before joining Bluestreak at their table. The blue and gray youngling peered up at him as he slid into the chair next to him, knowing that was where Bluestreak preferred he sit, even if sitting across was more favorable for easy conversation.

"What was that about? You aren't in trouble are you?" Bluestreak asked quietly, doubtless not wanting to attract attention. Not that it mattered; the handful of mechs who were in the rec room clearly wanted the same information.

Prowl allowed a tiny shake of his helm and answered in a similarly hushed voice. "I am not. We were just settling a… misunderstanding."

"Then why did he look so upset when he first came in… I thought he was going to be like Sunstreaker yesterday and get mad at you and that would have made me sad because he's been kinda nice lately."

Prowl cocked an optic ridge. "He was upset initially." Prowl allowed. "But I think it was at himself rather than at me."

"Oh…" Bluestreak considered that and nodded. Then he brightened. "Will you be able to take me to the firing range again today?"

Prowl could not stop the tiny smile that touched his lip plates. "I believe so, though it might have to be a short session, depending on how this orn goes."

Bluestreak smiled widely and then he launched into a happy recital about all he was learning about firing the weapon and how he was looking forward to learning how to do it with his eventual adult frame and his hopes that once he got his processor expansion he would be able to focus more easily. Prowl let him talk, listening to his one-sided dialogue as he finished his morning energon. As annoying as the constant chatter _could_ be, the older Praxian found it was actually pleasant.

… … …

Less than half a joor later, Prowl was once more standing outside of the tactical command center. He knew he could not linger, Smokescreen would easily be able to detect his spark signature and he did not want to give his department leader any cause to doubt him. His report would do that well enough on its own.

Deciding further delay would be a waste of time, he opened the door and strode through. Smokescreen glanced up from where he was standing over Tailgate's screen and looked him up and down. The serious inspection caused Prowl to pause his movements until it was over.

"You are only five breems early instead of your usual ten. Is everything alright?" Smokescreen asked taking a step toward him.

Prowl nodded, the gesture showing his unease more than he wanted it to. "Hound had a few questions we needed to address."

Smokescreen nodded, considering him carefully, then motioned toward his office. Obediently, Prowl followed him. This time he was grateful for the offer of privacy in which to give his embarrassingly vague report. At least when the rebuke came it would not be in public.

Once the door slid shut, he sat in the chair he was gestured to and smokescreen slid behind his desk. "It's been a decaorn. What does it look like?"

Prowl released a vent of air. "The situation is still unclear, Smokescreen. At first it seemed as if a specific attack had been in the works, but then that disappeared several orns ago and it is as if Megatron has changed his mind entirely."

"Unlikely." Smokescreen snorted air through his olfactory vents. "He doesn't let go of a grudge like that."

Prowl nodded. "I must concur. But there has been nothing specific enough to build a defensive strategy against. If he has a plan, it must be something he is already prepared to execute or the maneuvering for it is being done in such a skillfully deceptive manner that we are not picking up any patterns in the data."

"That makes sense." Smokescreen nodded, not seeming at all upset about the lack of definitive progress. "You said earlier that Trailbreaker would make a good candidate for detecting things like that. I'll put him on secondary review."

Prowl nodded silently approving of the assignment.

Then Smokescreen frowned. "That doesn't mean something isn't coming. And the longer it goes before it happens, the worse it will probably be."

"Indeed, that is my thought as well."

"So, what are your recommendations?" Smokescreen pressed.

Prowl gave him a brief look and then cleared his vents. "All we can do now is prepare Iacon for possible assault, which we have already been doing."

"But anything specific?"

"Defense is your area of expertise." Prowl said softly, not wanting Smokescreen to think he was overstepping his assignment.

"And your area is discovering the weaknesses in a defense and overcoming them." Smokescreen shook his helm. "What do _you_ see?"

Hesitating a moment longer, Prowl dipped his helm, lowering his gaze as he carefully framed his reply. "As I am sure you are aware from the data gathered my initial interrogation, one of the things Megatron had me working on near the end was to stage an assault on Iacon. I was able to calculate several possible ways of overcoming Iacon's current defenses."

"But that means you know how to improve those weaknesses. We already made some adjustments based on your… um… suggestions." Smokescreen seemed a little uneasy talking about that time period of Prowl's experience in Iacon.

Prowl nodded easily, not truly as uncomfortable discussing that rather humiliating experience as he would have expected he would be.

"Perhaps. But I do have a few specific recommendations that I have only developed recently. But they are no guarantee." Prowl warned, becoming truly disconcerted by how well Smokescreen was taking his admittance of failure. It had been a long time since he had worked under any commanding officer that would accept such a thing without violent retribution, even if he himself had never been such an unreasonable commander.

Then he rebuked himself. This was _Smokescreen_, not a Decepticon.

"Of course not." Smokescreen waved aside Prowl's concern. "But something is better than nothing. So, let's hear it."

Prowl hesitated exactly 3.26 astroseconds before he allowed himself to relax. Then, looking back up at his former apprentice, Prowl told him.

Smokescreen listened carefully, nodding occasionally then, when Prowl was finished he stood. Prowl quickly did likewise only to blink in surprise when Smokescreen's hand landed on his shoulder.

"The Prime has requested a briefing of all the department commanders on this matter, so your analysis is just in time." Prowl nodded and almost apologized for not being able to provide anything more specific, but Smokescreen continued before he could. "You will come with me to that meeting."

Prowl stared. A department command briefing was one attended by department leaders and their second in commands. He was far from being either. "I am not sure that is…"

The fierce glint in Smokescreen's optics cut him off before the younger mech's clipped words could. "That's an _order_."

Prowl's lip plates snapped shut. He nodded very stiffly, expertly hiding his reluctance, reminding himself Smokescreen had the right to speak to him like that if he wanted to… and he _had_ questioned an order. Sometimes it was hard to remember.

"Understood, sir." He said softly.

Smokescreen looked at him for a moment and then huffed a gust of air and some of his irritation bled out. "You are too good at avoiding contact with others. They can't get used to the idea of you being one of us if they don't _see_ you."

Prowl's optics narrowed with sudden suspicion. "And they will not consent to the idea of me being even a senior tactician if they do not get used to me."

Smokescreen grinned. "Exactly!"

Prowl released a tired vent of air and conceded the argument in the face of the other tactician's evident enthusiasm. He would learn the hard way that the other Autobots would not be so easily convinced to place their lives in his hands… hands that had been indirectly stained with the energon of many of their comrades and friends. "As you wish."

Smokescreen only gave him an odd look, then shook his helm. "Any other mech and I'd think you were enjoying this." Prowl just cocked an optic ridge and Smokescreen hurried on. "But I know you aren't. Let's go."

… … …

Ultra Magnus sat stiffly in the chair that was two to the left of where Optimus would be sitting once he arrived. He nodded jerkily to Blaster and then, a quarter of a breem later, Red Alert and Inferno as they also entered. Normally he would not have felt pressured to be the one to informally greet each arriving mech. Normally Optimus would have taken that unofficial duty.

But Optimus was not present yet. And his unusual absence was enough to draw even more attention to the fact that he, Ultra Magnus, was currently the highest ranking mech in the briefing room.

It would not last long, however, for which Ultra Magnus was very glad.

He may have also been a candidate to replace Sentinal Prime, but he was not arrogant enough to think he had what it took to be a Prime. He had been secretly relieved that the matrix had chosen Orion Pax and had felt his respect for the slightly younger mech only deepen with time. No, Ultra Magnus new his strengths and while he could be a solid and dependable leader, he knew he functioned best supporting someone more naturally inclined to that role than he.

Nor was Ultra Magnus ignorant enough to be blind to the fact that while he might be considered the Prime's second in command, because of rank and status, he was not necessarily the best to actually advise on matters beyond the administrative jungle that was his preferred field of service. Thus he was well aware that, as the war had grown to encompass the whole of Cybertron, mechs such as Jazz and Ironhide had unofficially supplanted him as the Prime's primary advisor.

Even so, he was not really upset; he knew Jazz and Ironhide were the best in their field and that their counsel was more important at this time. Unfortunately, that did not mean that Ultra Magnus got out of the ceremonial aspects of his official rank and status. Like now… filling in socially while the Prime was delayed.

Delayed. The thought almost made him smirk.

Elita One's shuttle had just landed, having arrived several orns earlier than expected, and considering the nature of this up-coming briefing, the Prime had wanted his Femme Commander to be present as well. He had wanted to inform her that her presence was required personally… and as soon as possible. Right.

Not that any mech would begrudge him wanting to see his sparkmate at the earliest possible moment, not after nearly ten quartex separation. He almost snickered at the thought, but rigid decorum prevented it.

Instead he nodded to Air Raid and Silverbolt as the two arialbots entered. Ratchet was already there, as were Ironhide and Jazz. That left their Prime and their head tactician. Ultra Magnas managed not to vent with relief that this moment in the spotlight would be over soon.

No sooner had the two flyers taken their positions – with Air Raid standing behind Silverbolt's seat – than the door slid open again.

Smokescreen walked in and… Ultra Magnus stiffened, feeling the tension level in the room suddenly shoot upward, as Prowl followed close on his heels. His were not the only set of optics that followed the black and white Praxian as he silently took a position behind Smokescreen's seat – a position that mirrored Air Raid's and Inferno's as they likewise stood behind their department commanders.

Briefly, if belatedly, Ultra Magnus glanced around the table, wary as to whether any of the mechs there would react poorly to the former Decepticon's presence; if there would be any problems he would need to deal with before they got out of hand. Some of the mechs seemed irritated that he was there, a few seemed disgusted, while most appeared passively curious if not a touch reserved. Neither Jazz nor Ironhide seemed surprised and Ultra Magnus figured he should take some measure of comfort from that. Ratchet was almost smug, which was disturbing in its own way.

Seeing there were no obvious issues, Ultra Magnus returned his attention to the Praxian himself. Even as quiet conversations resumed around the table, even as Smokescreen leaned forward to speak with Blaster, Prowl remained almost motionless. Even his doorwings would not move more than a fraction of a centimeter and if one were not watching him carefully, it would seem as if they did not move at all. It was unnatural, especially compared to the almost fluid way Smokescreen's flicked and shifted. But that was nothing that he had not noticed the first time Prowl had been in one of these briefings.

In fact, he stood almost as rigidly now as he had sat more than once while still a paroled POW.

That realization made Ultra Magnus blink, carefully reconsidering the mech now standing almost directly in front of him. He had known that he had become an Autobot, but this was the first time he had seen proof of that himself. The former Decepticon seemed to make an effort to avoid any type of casual social contact, so this was the first time he had seen the Autobot insignia on his chassis. It was the first time he had actually perceived the Autobot IFF signature his faction ID now transmitted and it was the first time he had seen the mech's now brilliant cerulean optics.

As Prowl blinked, likely sensing his intense perusal, and lifted his gaze to meet his, Ultra Magnus felt his vent's hitch as he realized he was staring into optics that almost perfectly mirrored – not just in color, but in the steadiness, wisdom and depth – Optimus Prime's.

Ultra Magnus felt as if he were suddenly standing on a precipice, where his understanding of the natural order of reality was about to be thrown on its helm. He could not put a finger on exactly _why._

So ensnared by the tactician's now slightly expectant and yet somehow hesitant and wary gaze, Ultra Magnus just caught himself from jumping when the door opened again.

Conversations fell silent and mechs straightened as Optimus, Elita One beside him again for the first time in too long, entered. The Prime called the meeting to order just by walking in the door.

As always, Ultra Magnus was struck by the elegant beauty Elita One radiated, the undeniable deadliness of her frame matched perfectly by the light of warm compassion in her optics. She was unquestionably the perfect compliment to Optimus Prime and he could not have been prouder of the femme his caretakers had adopted and then raised along side him as a sister. He dipped his head fractionally in greeting when her optics met his as her gently eager gaze took in the sight of those she had left behind so many decaorns ago. The tiny, relieved smile that graced her lip plates as she visually confirmed that so many of her companions were still living, lifted his spark.

Then her look faltered as her optics finally settled onto Prowl. Her spinal struts stiffened and – only because she was now seated next to him – Ultra Magnus heard her engine give a low, unhappy rev. Optimus glanced at her questioningly and then followed her gaze. Ultra Magnus did likewise and shifted his optics back to Prowl.

The Praxian, still as emotionless as ever, lifted his own gaze to meet the Prime's. Ultra Magnus' denta ground together at the impertinence of an unranked, former Decepticon, acting so boldly with the Prime. Only the knowledge that Optimus tended to encourage a lack of strict formality kept him from speaking on the matter. Even so, his irritation was assuaged as Prowl quickly lowered his gaze respectfully.

"As some of you are aware, there has been a slight change in the tactical situation." Optimus began, looking at the gray and white Praxian now instead. "Smokescreen, what do you have for us?"

Smokescreen grimaced. "Not as much as I would like. That said, there are things all of you need to be made aware of in relation to some changes… a new twist you might say… to Megatron's continuing aggression..."

Air Raid's engine revved irritably as he pointed at Prowl. "Perhaps you can start by explaining why _he_ is here again."

There were a few quiet rumbles of engines in unspoken agreement with the sentiment underlying that question, including from Elita One next to Ultra Magnus. Prowl did not seem to notice the question or their reactions to it, except that one doorwing twitched ever so faintly.

Smokescreen's engine revved as well; however his gaze sharpened on Air Raid. "Prowl is here to _deliver_ the briefing."

The calm, cool and almost defiant words took an astrosecond to register in Ultra Magnus' CPU. When they did he could not stop the incredulous "what?" That escaped his vocalizer.

He was not alone; there was generalized discontent from everyone at the table. All except Jazz, Ironhide, Ratchet and Optimus. That alone brought Ultra Magnus up, making him hesitate before speaking, making sure of his words, modulating his tone.

"Why him?" He asked carefully, looking at Smokescreen. "Granted he did well preparing the last offensive, but that does not explain why he is here now. This is a task for senior command staff."

Unsaid was the glaring evidence that Prowl was completely unranked. He had no business being in a senior level briefing at all. And yet Optimus had not objected to his presence. Nor had Ironhide or Jazz for that matter.

That feeling of utter surrealism threatened to overtake him again, and it was made worse as Smokescreen only quirked an optic ridge, disgustingly smug. "The answer to that will be clear once he gives the briefing, sir. Needless to say, however, Prowl supervised the analysis on this problem and is thus…"

"But he doesn't even have a rank yet!" Red Alert burst out, fingers clinching around the edge of the table. "Protocol says…"

"Protocol says he must have a monitor to lead an analysis, and he did: Trailbreaker as well as three other members of my staff, at various times during the process." Smokescreen glared hard at the security director and then looked up and back at the other tactician. "Prowl?"

Not having once given evidence to any personal reaction to being discussed like an inanimate object, Prowl nodded formally, "Yes, sir."

Ultra Magnus watched as Prowl reached past his department leader and activated the controls on the table's primary consol. An astrosecond later an orbital image of Cybertron appeared, floating as a ghost-like projection over the table. Instinctively, all optics on the hologram as Prowl began speaking. The image rotated so that everyone could see the points being addressed as Prowl quickly detailed the current tactical status of all known Decepticon positions. It was a lot of information, but somehow Prowl managed to convey it all succinctly and in a way that was not overwhelming.

Then he shifted to the most recent patterns in Decepticon activity and how, for a brief period early that decaorn they had seemed determined to accomplish something and then it was as if that objective suddenly changed. Prowl presented the evidence supporting that conclusion in the same manner, fully but to the point and without a single wasted word.

It was simultaneously the most thorough and concise briefing Ultra Magnus had ever been given. It was clear that Prowl was both skilled and experienced with such things. Like his request to speak on the record just before his processor was scanned following his first patrol, it illustrated that Prowl was no grunt defector, he was an experienced commander, one used to leading others.

Only when he was coming to the climax of his presentation, did the Praxian hesitate, glancing down at Smokescreen. "We have sufficient evidence to believe that Megatron's initial objective has not changed, only that he is – to this point – successfully keeping his plans on the matter secret from us. Because of the nature of his target and his reasons for going after it, it is highly unlikely that he would be diverted without at least attempting to obtain it. The longer he delays, unfortunately, the more careful his execution will be and the harder it will be to successfully counteract it. Because we have no confirmable information on a specific plan, we have little choice but to secure Iacon to the best of our ability."

He then laid out recommended defense modifications, which included additional automatic turrets on the perimeter and increased ground recognizance and air surveillance. Interestingly, it also included a reorganization of how the response teams and ground forces were stationed around the base. It was not a configuration Ultra Magnus would have necessarily considered, but he did have to admit it made sense once he saw it detailed like that.

He frowned. As logical and beneficial as all of the recommendations were, it still did not address…

"Why Iacon?" Red Alert spoke up then, as if reading Ultra Magnus' thoughts. "And what _is_ he after?"

Prowl hesitated and Ultra Magnus was shocked to see a hint of trepidation flicker behind those otherwise stoic optics as he looked at the security director. "Megatron will attempt to attack Iacon because he knows this is where I am, and he is determined to take me back."

There was a moment of complete silence, as they took that in, during which Ultra Magnus was just as at a loss for words as his companions.

Inferno, interestingly enough, recovered first. "Don't take this wrong, but what evidence do you have to support that?"

Even more interesting, and likewise very telling, Prowl did not answer immediately. Instead he looked back at Optimus, a silent question in his gaze. Ultra Magnus understood immediately and, despite himself, felt his respect for the former Decepticon inch upward: Whatever evidence he had was known to the Prime and Prowl was only going to share it with the Prime's permission, regardless as to how his reputation might suffer if that permission was not granted.

Optimus held the black and white mech's gaze for a long moment and then nodded once. No one missed the interaction, nor failed to comprehend what it signified.

Prowl acknowledged the Prime's gesture and then looked back at Inferno. "Primarily, because he told us."

Reaching forward again, Prowl manipulated the controls.

Ultra Magnus refused to wince as Megatron's image appeared over the conference table. He listened carefully as the message played and, as it ended, found his gaze returning to Prowl.

It was Air Raid who broke the uneasy silence that followed the Decepticon leader's final snarl. "Why are we even doing all this? Why not just hand him over to Megatron? At least _he_ wants the slagger." The flyer's gaze was roving over every individual at the table _except_ the one in question as if looking for support.

That was not what he got however, at least not universally or even remotely. Ultra Magnus let his engine growl. "Are you glitched?"

Nor was he the only one to call down the hot-mouthed airialbot.

However, Optimus lifted a hand, silently cutting off the small chorus. Once everyone had settled, the Prime looked back at the recent defector and Ultra Magnus did likewise. He was not sure what to think of the Praxian's expression; it was something between chagrin, understanding and a touch of awe.

"Prowl?" It was an invitation to answer Air Raid's question.

Prowl blinked and that bare hint to his feelings was again hidden behind a mask of neutrality that did not hide the clear wariness in his optics as he glanced around the table again. He spoke softly. "That threat is nothing more than an attempt to manipulate. Megatron has no interest in sparing Autobot lives and will gladly exterminate all of you. Handing me over to him will change nothing."

"Convenient for you, isn't it." Air Raid bit out, but not with as much confidence as before.

Optimus' frown mirrored Ultra Magnus' as he opened his mouth to call Air Raid on that provocative statement, but Prowl straightened, his optics blazing.

The Praxian spoke before Optimus could, his tone carefully controlled and respectful but no less stern. "While I understand you believe I would be self-serving in this matter, that does not change the fact that gaining custody of me would in no way prevent Megatron from killing as many Autobots as possible."

Ultra Magnus found he was feeling eerily like an academy trainee on a team that was being called down by a senior instructor. It made that sense of surrealism surge back to the surface of his awareness even as Prowl continued, his optics fixed on Air Raid. "However, it is a surprise that anyone at this level of command would think that our Prime would trade even _one_ life so cheaply. If such a trade were even remotely likely to result in a beneficial outcome, I would not be here delivering this briefing, I would be on my way to Kaon."

Silence greeted that statement, or rather the flinty conviction and seriousness with which it was delivered. It took Ultra Magnus a moment to realize that Prowl's clear irritation had not been because Air Raid wanted him to be turned over to Megatron, but because Air Raid had suggested Optimus would consider such a morally questionable course of action.

A former Decepticon had defended the Prime's honor.

That was not something Ultra Magnus would have expected to witness in a hundred vorns.

Air Raid's optics were wide as he realized the relatively gentle dressing down he had just been given, then he growled. "Who do you think you are to use our moral guidelines for your own gain…?"

"He is absolutely correct." Optimus cut him off, his tone clearly indicating he would tolerate no further disruptions from Air Raid. Then their leader's gaze circled the table, the force behind it driving home his words. "Prowl _is_ one of us now and, even if he were not, I would not consign _any_ spark to such a fate as would await him at Megatron's hands. Do you know why?"

No one answered right away, though the question was directed to all of them. Ultra Magnus had thought he understood why not, had believed it to be self-explanatory. But now, something in the way the Prime had asked the question made him wonder if there was more he was not seeing. Looking at his leader, he saw that Optimus was again looking steadily at Prowl. Curious, he looked that way again and saw that that strange mix of emotions were once more battling on the Praxian's face, even though Prowl's gaze was lowered to the table. Then the Praxian straightened, the calm though still faintly awed expression now more fully controlled.

"Do _you_, Prowl?" Optimus asked, a confident smile audible in his voice even if not visible on his face plate.

All optics shifted to the former Enforcer and Prowl took a moment to compose his answer, looking down to gather his thoughts. Then he brought his gaze back up, locking them onto the Prime's

He spoke softly. "The ability to trust one's commanders not to sell one's life uselessly is a trait unique among Autobots. It differentiates Autobot from Decepticon even more boldly than the other differences in moral coding – or lack thereof among Decepticons. It engenders a loyalty that the Decepticons can only approximate by force and the promise of personal harm."

That look of muted awe wove its way marginally into Prowl's voice as he continued, though it now felt like he was speaking to Optimus rather than the group as a whole. "It is likely what has held your army together for the last six vorns when you had no victory to give them hope. If the Prime will not even sacrifice the life of a former enemy without justifiable cause, it gives all of them the confidence that he will not allow _their_ lives to be uselessly sacrificed either."

There was another long breem of silence on the heels of that relatively passionate statement. Then Elita One spoke, turning rebuking optics onto Air Raid. "Simply put, it's the right thing to do."

Ultra Magnus was nodding before he realized he was, and spoke only an astrosecond later, looking at Prowl. It was the first time he had ever addressed the Praxian directly – or at least respectfully – and he felt a touch guilty having to acknowledge that fact, even just to himself.

"I must admit; I never would have expected such an argument to be spoken so eloquently or convincingly by a mech like you." Then he realized what that might sound like and felt his frame heat as he hurried to add. "No offense intended, of course."

Ultra Magnus cleared his vents nervously as Ratchet smirked and Jazz leaned back in his chair with a smile.

For the second time since he came into the briefing room, Prowl's optics met his and the tactician dipped his helm formally. "I have no grounds to be offended by such a sentiment, sir. Until very recently, I would not have been able to express it either."

The two mechs held the other's gaze a moment longer and in that moment the strange spinning in Ultra Magnus' perception of reality suddenly righted itself, even if it left him feeling a touch unbalanced.

This was not just a 'Con defector he was looking at, he had become more than that. Or perhaps he had always been more. In any case, Ultra Magnus allowed himself to realize – and start to believe – that it was true that Prowl's frame testified to what he was _now_: an Autobot.

* * *

_Don't get mad at me *pathetic whimper*… I know this one is relatively short (but really, the last one was super long). I had to split this one and the next one up into two chapters… even though they had originally been planned as one; it just got way too long. The good news: the next chapter should be up relatively soon. :D _

_I got a lot of comments about how people were really, really upset about how the 'Bots treated Prowl after he scanned Bluestreak's processor last chapter. I hope the opening scene in this one (written specifically you… you know who you are guys) helped assuage some lingering anger/frustration/irritation/fury at the 'Bots. I have to say, I think it's awesome that so many of you are identifying so closely with Prowl… that just makes me giggle and clap my hands like a little girl! _

_What did you think of Ultra Magnus' POV? Something a little different eh? He is the one Prowl is going to have to be promoted over to become SIC, so I figured we needed to get inside his head a little. Credit to my understanding of Ultra Magnus's basic character goes primarily to **Cairistona** and her wonderful portrayal of a character I had no idea could be so intriguing. _

_Finally, Elita One is here! Don't worry, we will be seeing more of her… much more. But not until after the next chapter ('cause I had to split this one). Till then, I hope to hear more from you. After all, you never know when something you say might trigger inspiration…_


	31. Managing Risks II

_Hope every one (my American readers at least) had a good Memorial Day. Never forget those who serve and who have given their lives for our freedoms. In memory of my friends, David (2009) and Charles (2010), who died in the line of duty while in service to their country._

* * *

By the end of the orn, Prowl had been forced to admit – even if only to Smokescreen on a private comm. – that the briefing had gone better than he would have anticipated. It had been a surprise to see Elita One, not that he was unfamiliar with her appearance. She had been on an unspecified mission since before his capture and, despite everything, he had been grateful for that. She was a femme to be reckoned with, every bit as strong and as driven as the Prime himself and, while she was rumored to be compassionate, was also known for being more reactive and fiery.

Her reaction to his presence made it clear she did not trust him and would not let her guard down. It had surprised him that she had taken Air Raid to task when she had clearly agreed with at least the sentiment behind the arialbot's words. That alone bespoke a strength of character and conviction that impressed Prowl almost as much as her sparkmate did.

Even so, the Praxian was glad the orn was over as he headed down the corridor to pick up Bluestreak. He almost smirked; the freedom to simply leave his post when his shift ended was an aspect of being lower ranked he found he rather enjoyed. It was a leisure he had not known for hundreds of vorns; ever since he had been promoted to second in command of the Praxian Enforcer Corps' Tactical Division. And that had been only a hundred vorns or so before he had taken over the department when the division commander was promoted to command of the entire Enforcer Corps.

A sudden, very unique spark resonance registered on his upgraded scanners: a single spark that resonated between two mechs only four corridors over. He had not noticed it before because of the volume of traffic in those particular hallways. Rather it was his combat system – running in stand-by mode in the back ground at all times now that it was allowed to function – that actually singled them out and brought their presence to his conscious attention and for one single reason.

They were headed purposefully his direction.

Prowl tensed, but continued moving, telling himself that surely it was just the two of them going about their given duties. Of course, he knew that was wishful thinking and only allowed himself to indulge in the otherwise useless activity because he knew that if they wanted to force a confrontation, it would be even more foolish to try and avoid them. At least now Bluestreak was safely elsewhere and would not be tempted to intervene.

With a quiet rev of his engine, Prowl lifted his chin resolutely and continued walking as if he was not concerned at all.

At least until Sunstreaker sidled up to his left, Sideswipe to his right, both uncomfortably within his personal space.

"Hi, Prowlie!" Sideswipe purred, though it was not a pleasant sound.

Prowl's engine growled before he could stop it and he cast the silver mech an irritated look. "It's _Prowl._"

"Whatever." Sunstreaker waved flippantly and then reached over to flick the Autobot symbol on Prowl's chassis. "So… you're one of us now."

It had taken every ounce of self-control he possessed not to slam Sunstreaker's face into the decking for that, so much so that he almost missed Sideswipe's snarky rebuttal.

"At least he _looks_ like one of us."

"True." Sunstreaker conceded. "After all, looks can be deceiving. Especially for _Decepticons._"

Prowl shot the golden front-liner a look, though he was starting to have the nagging suspicion that there was more going on here than he had initially suspected. Neither one had brought up Bluestreak nor what had happened the previous orn.

"What is the point of this?" He demanded, though he forced himself to remain polite.

"I was badly hurt in that safe-house debacle." Sunstreaker growled. "So were a lot of my friends."

Prowl hesitated mid-step and looked at him, optic ridges drawn together. "And you blame me?"

It was as much a simple request for clarification as it was dawning revelation.

Sunstreaker's engine revved and his words were spoken with open doubt. "The Prime said it wasn't _your_ fault."

"But you were sure upset about it." Sideswipe put in quickly, his optics flashing.

What was going on here? Prowl's battle systems still alerted him that he was in imminent danger, but this did not feel like the usual trouble the Twins were infamous for.

"Yes, I was upset." Prowl admitted cautiously.

Sunstreaker suddenly swung around in front of him, arresting his progress. The warrior growled, leaning in threateningly, his optics alight with untold angry warning. It was enough to make Prowl freeze all systems, wishing his programming would permit him to defend himself from higher ranking mechs.

"You think that just because you have blue optics and that symbol on your chassis that we are just going to roll over and _trust_ you?" Sunstreaker demanded. "We've worked with your kind before, in the battlefield, and we've learned the hard way _never_ to trust a defector."

Prowl eyed the two mechs carefully, speaking softly, well aware he was dealing with an unstable fusion reactor that could explode at the slightest provocation. "If I were under the assumption that you trusted me, I assure you I no longer am."

"Good." Sunstreaker stepped even closer and Prowl fought the urge to step back to put space between them, knowing that showing weakness now would be a mistake. "Once a 'Con always a 'Con. _We_ won't be forgetting that and we _will_ be there when you decide to turn on the Autobots."

Prowl blinked, realizing he was being inadvertently shown the real reason the two Terror Twins retained such an antagonistic view of him and everything suddenly made sense, including Sunstreaker's outburst about him not deserving to be an Autobot the previous orn.

The Twins were front line warriors. Most, if not all, Decepticon defectors – according to Smokescreen – were kept as lower-level grunt-warriors. The kind the Twins would serve with out in the field. They were among those who would be hurt the most directly if those defectors decided to change allegiances once again. No wonder they had been the ones he had been sent out with on his first mission – it was probably an assignment they were given quite frequently as the need arose. And Prowl had no doubt the percentage of such mechs betraying them was high. No wonder they expected the same from him.

Could it actually be, as suggested by Sunstreaker's choice of words, that they – as unlikely as it might seem – were actually concerned enough about their faction that they would take it upon themselves to personally try and eliminate what they considered a serious threat? Was it possible this was not nearly as personal for them, at least not now, as Prowl had assumed it was?

Curious, he glanced at Sideswipe for confirmation.

The silver Twin gave it with a sharp nod. "We won't let you hurt the 'Bots around here. Not if we can stop you."

Prowl blinked, feeling some of his instinctive defensiveness abate.

This was a side of the Twins he would never have anticipated from his experiences with them to date. But the grim seriousness, the absolute lack of the mischievousness they usually all but radiated spoke to their sincerity. This he could appreciate.

"If the Prime trusts me," he spoke, newborn respect in his tone, "rest assured it has not been given lightly."

Sideswipe just huffed in disdain for such a claim.

Sunstreaker stepped closer, using one hand to push Prowl backward, up against a wall. Prowl let himself he held there as Sunstreaker snarled. "It should not have been given at all."

Still not fighting the hand holding him against the wall, Prowl continued to meet the angry optics boring into him. "We _are_ on the same side, Sunstreaker."

"You. Are. A. _Decepticon._" Sunstreaker pushed him into the wall a fraction harder, though surprisingly not with the same violence that boiled in his gaze. It was a level of control that had to be taxing on the golden Twin.

Prowl took advantage of that and straightened, not backing down even if he did not fight back. "You are wrong, Sunstreaker. While I do not expect you to believe me easily or quickly, I am no longer a Decepticon, and will _never_ be one again."

Sunstreaker's engine revved threateningly and the hand holding him curled tighter around the armor plating. "You…"

"That is enough!" Inferno's voice cut through the lowly vibrating growls filling the air.

Immediately Sunstreaker released Prowl stepping back fractionally. Sideswipe likewise backed off.

"We were just leaving." Sideswipe cast a suddenly wary look at Prowl and then tugged at his brother's arm. "Come on, Bro."

Sunstreaker made to follow his twin but Inferno called them again. "Sunstreaker, halt! You were assaulting…"

"I will not press charges, this time." Prowl said quickly and lowly, though his tone made both the Twins look at him in surprise. He ignored them and looked at Inferno. "No harm was done."

Inferno cocked and optic ridge at Prowl, but after a moment nodded dismissal at the two front line warriors who hurried to depart. Now alone in the corridor with the security mech, Prowl waited silently, belatedly wondering if _he_ would catch any fallout from this even if he had not been at fault. It would not be the first time. He clearly remembered the time Inferno had made him leave the rec room because a handful of mechs – the Twins among them – had chosen to make a scene because he was there.

"Those two are dangerous." Inferno chose to say, nodding the direction the Twins had gone.

Prowl let his lip plate quirk ever so faintly. "Perhaps, but not this orn." He hesitated. "Not yet."

Inferno actually released a short bark of laughter at the dry statement. Then he sobered, looking up and down Prowl's frame critically, clearly taking in the changes that have been made to it to signify his change in loyalty. Prowl waited, growing more worried the longer it took the bright red mech to say something. Anything.

At length, at least half a breem into his silent inspection, Inferno's frame relaxed into something more casual, indicating what he said next was informal. "I believe I owe you a cube of energon. I'd like to make good on it."

Prowl stared, that was not what he expected to hear. At all. It sent a stab of pain shooting into his processor and he just barely managed to hide the wince. "You owe me nothing…"

"Humor me." Inferno insisted, gesturing with an open, friendly hand down the corridor toward the rec room.

Prowl hesitated a moment, trying to decide if that was an order he was obligated to follow or simply a friendly request. He blinked up into the nervous but also quietly hopeful optics of the security mech. Having been in the other mech's armor back in his early vorns on the Praxian Enforcer Corps, he believed he understood what was troubling Inferno. Perhaps if he could assuage those concerns he could get out of a trip to the – by now – crowded rec room.

He nodded slowly. "As you wish, though I understand why you acted as you did to de-escalate that situation."

"It was not the right choice." Inferno said regretfully. "I knew then that they were attempting to antagonize and make a scene and that you were merely trying to refuel. I chose their side because I was not entirely sure they weren't correct, however wrong their methods."

Prowl blinked again, accepting the explanation, though he did not truly believe Inferno had a moral obligation to give it. "I was a POW at the time." Prowl stated softly. "You were more equitable than you may believe."

Inferno eyed him as they continued walking toward the lounge. "That's very generous of you."

Prowl quirked an optic ridge faintly, "So is offering to replace a cube of energon you do not owe me."

Inferno chuckled again at that, his armor relaxing more fully, though he was no closer to being truly at ease than Prowl was. As they walked, Prowl sent a quick ping to Chromia explaining that he had been delayed, but that he would be there to pick up Bluestreak as soon as he was able.

Their walk was companionably silent, though there was still an unspoken unease between them. However, as they neared the rec room, it became very evident that the place was indeed teeming with mechs. Unintentionally, Prowl's steps slowed.

When Inferno realized his companion was slowing, he looked at Prowl with mild concern. "What's wrong?"

The question snapped Prowl back to the moment, though he hesitated in answering. "I make a point of avoiding crowds."

Inferno frowned at him. "How are mechs going to learn to trust you if they never get to know you?"

Prowl canted him a sidewise look as they rounded the last bend on their approach to the crowded rec room. "You saw how effectively that strategy worked with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe."

Of all things, Inferno laughed, and it was a true laugh. "Yeah, well, thankfully, most mechs aren't like those two miscreants."

"Indeed." Prowl found he liked the sound of Inferno's laugh. It was bold and relatively free and he was surprised the mech had relaxed enough around him to make such a noise. "They were a major nuisance for the Praxian Enforcer Corps."

Inferno stared at him, optics widening, though it was not defensive or suspicious. "I would imagine so, but how do _you_ know that?"

Prowl concealed his surprise that Inferno would not know his history. Apparently the command staff had been fairly tight-glossaed about his past. He decided he should appreciate the consideration for his privacy in that it allowed him to get to know the other individuals on the base like a normal mech… not the one-sided and unbalanced knowledge gap that existed between him and say Jazz, Ironhide, Ratchet and the Prime.

That said, he knew anything he said now would be subject to the base's rumor mill. Regardless, thinking perhaps knowing that he was once a respectable Enforcer would help others gain confidence in him. He did not think it would _hurt_ anything, at least.

"I was the senior tactician for the Praxian Enforcer Corps." He answered the question softly.

"Ah." The light of understanding filled the red-mech's optics and he nodded to himself as bits and pieces of information and observations doubtlessly settled into place. Then his expression became more pointed. "Did _you_ manage to keep them under control?"

Prowl could not stop the rueful snort of air. "Most of the time. Though not always."

Inferno paused at the door to the rec room and allowed Prowl to proceed him inside before coming abreast of him again. "I would be interested to hear how."

Prowl let himself smirk. "It was most often a matter of giving them sufficient outlet for their… excess enthusiasm."

Inferno just stared at him. " 'Excess enthusiasm'?" He echoed incredulously.

"What would you call it?" Prowl asked as he retrieved a cube for himself.

"Nothing so… polite." Inferno said with another gentle chuckle and then let them fall into a companionable silence as they walked to a table. Once they were seated he spoke again. "So, how _did_ you deal with them?"

Prowl took a sip then set the cube down to politely give Inferno his complete attention. "Manual labor. Brig or prison time does not work effectively because it just gives them time to concoct a more devious plan. Putting them to work? At least we would get _something_ out of it."

"Hmm. I'll keep that in mind."

This time the silence was awkward.

Prowl sensed Inferno was contemplating how to change topics. As the silence lengthened, he became convinced it would be to an uncomfortable topic. Even so he waited, willing to let Inferno direct this conversation where he wished, finding he was actually feeling a touch indebted to the mech – not just for stopping Sunstreaker but also for offering him a touch of normal mech-to-mech interaction.

As the uneasy silence dragged on however, Prowl could tell Inferno was growing increasingly nervous. He released a vent of air. "You will not be the first to ask me difficult questions, Inferno. Please do not make it harder on yourself than you already have."

Inferno blinked out of his nearly blank stare to meet his optics and then he averted them, clearing his vents. "You were with Megatron, as his lead tactician, correct?"

Prowl nodded, suddenly aware that the conversations around them stilled to hear what was coming. Inferno was looking distinctly uncomfortable, almost as if he really did not want to know the answer to his next question. "So… his policy of targeting sparklings and neutrals… was… was that you?"

Prowl stared, he had answered this one for Hound already. Apparently the rumor mill was not a universal thing on this base… or perhaps it was only that security mechs were not routinely included in that underground news channel. He discretely filed away that tidbit of information.

Even so, he was aware that his doorwings had instinctively gone completely stiff to avoid giving too much away as to his reactions. He shook his helm. "No. Actually I advised Megatron _against_ those specific tactics."

"He didn't listen to his own senior tactician?" Inferno was dubious now, bordering on disbelief.

"Not in those two cases." Prowl paused, looking at Inferno and then at a few of the others who were not so subtly listening. He released a vent. "Jazz and Ratchet can both confirm that."

He could see armor relax around Inferno's frame. "And attacking defenseless medics?"

Prowl looked down, whishing he could give the same automatic denial, but knowing he could not. He fingered his half-full cube of energon, aware his doorwings drooped a fraction of a centimeter.

"Unfortunately, I cannot deny culpability in that travesty."

Inferno's surprise – likely at his open honesty – was clear to see. Then he blinked, not drawing away like Prowl expected, but actually leaning a fraction forward. "Is there any way to get around or mitigate that tactic?"

Prowl released a vent. "Unfortunately, the Decepticons are not likely to change such an effective strategy just because I have defected. The only thing we can do is depend on…" An idea hit him so suddenly it felt almost like a physical blow. He sat up straighter, his tactical processors pouncing on the idea and running multiple scenarios and calculations simultaneously to determine its legitimacy.

"… The medics." He finished slowly, still processing, hesitant to give into the sudden gust of relief he felt threatening at his control. He still had to convince said medics.

He focused back on Inferno, unaware that his well-controlled excitement lit his optics. "Perhaps there is a way. Thank you, Inferno." He stood. "Excuse me, sir, I need to speak to Ratchet."

Prowl started to step away only to realize Inferno was still looking at him oddly. He paused. "I do not mean to be rude, Inferno. Our discussion has been… pleasant."

The red mech cocked an optic ridge. "Pleasant?"

Prowl nodded, easily sensing the other's incredulity. "Indeed. You have assisted me in coming to a conclusion for a problem that has vexed me since my defection. Thank you."

"Um… you're welcome." It was almost more of a question than a statement. "Uh, glad I could help."

Prowl paused, looking at the now clearly bewildered security mech. "If you wish, we may continue this discussion at a later time."

He barely waited for Inferno's bemused nod before he turned and departed the rec room with as much haste as decorum and his pride would allow.

It was only as he was nearing the med bay that reality and self-preservation penetrated his growing internal excitement and he belatedly realized he had not given the CMO any warning as to his impending arrival.

Seeing the med bay doors just down the hall, he deemed it too late to correct that particular error and instead worked on calming himself. It would not help his case any if he appeared the incomprehensible fool.

He had succeeded in regaining complete control over his outward expression by the time he stepped into Ratchet's domain.

Ratchet was in the main medical ward, looking at an array of disassembled equipment parts with a junior medic Prowl had not met yet.

Ratchet looked up at his entry and frowned. Then he stood. Prowl spoke before the medic could. "Ratchet, might I speak with you, please?"

Ratchet straightened, looking at him appraisingly, considering the carefully polite tone of his words. Then finally he nodded, pointing to his office. Prowl followed him there and once the door closed behind them the CMO turned on him with wary suspicion.

"What is this about?"

Prowl carefully chose his words, knowing he was about to touch of very sensitive topic and not entirely sure how the temperamental medic would respond. Only then did Prowl realize he was not as bothered by the CMO's previous harangue as he would have expected. Like Hound had told him, that type of outburst seemed to fit the mech's temperament.

Even so, he continued cautiously. "I have been considering how I might be able to help mitigate the unfortunate actions I initiated against Autobot medics while I served under Megatron."

Ratchet's optics narrowed. "You mean when you had us intentionally targeted."

Prowl hesitated at the medic's tone, his doorwings twitching. "Yes."

The medic's engine growled in clear indication that Prowl had better tread on this topic carefully. "And what, pray tell, are you considering?"

"I may not be able to stop the Decepticons from targeting you, but I believe I may be able to help you and your staff learn to defend yourselves." He told the medic sincerely.

Ratchet just stood there for a long moment then shook his helm, a note of bitterness filling his voice. "Do you think Ironhide hasn't already tried? We are _medics_, Prowl. Attempting to integrate combat systems interferes with our medical programming."

He lifted a hand, gesturing with the opposite one at all of the well-concealed gears that would let him transform that hand into a myriad of different instruments. "Which of our tools would you have us sacrifice to support plasma cannons or energon blades? And without combat systems… attempts to put a blaster in our hands is, is… _disastrous_."

Ratchet was growling now, stepping toward Prowl angrily, nearly a decavorn of pent up frustration finally finding vent in his optics and sharp gestures. "Ironhide tried for nearly a vorn, but without combat protocols, even he finally gave up. Because of _your_ orders as a Decepticon, we are virtually a _liability_ to any unit we are assigned to. A liability when we should be an asset."

Prowl's doorwings tucked back, flinching at the frustration and increasing anger he heard in the medic's voice and he did not even consider interrupting, willing to let Ratchet vent his well-established angst at the situation at the one who had caused it.

When the medic seemed finished, he nodded. Even so, he did not feel his own optimism fade. "I know. But surely you must know how adaptive a mech's processor is. You cannot download combat protocols; that does not mean you cannot learn to fight. You cannot integrate plasma rifles or energon swords; that does not mean you cannot learn to use the tools you do have."

Ratchet just stared at him. "You seem very sure about that."

"I am." Prowl nodded. "If you are willing to learn… if you are willing to let me teach you. I cannot promise to make you a warrior, but I can at least help you learn not to be helpless."

Silence settled between them for the length of time it took Ratchet to cycle a full system's worth of air.

"Just me?" He asked at last.

Prowl shook his helm. "Any of your staff who are interested and willing to make the commitment."

Ratchet's lighter blue optics narrowed at that. "Exactly what type of commitment?"

"Dedicated practice at least twice a decaorn or more, whenever possible for at least a vorn." Prowl said immediately, having already calculated the minimum time and conditions in which he would be able to help them accomplish at least the basics of self-defense.

Ratchet did not move at all as he took that in, then he spoke, sounding faintly dazed and confused. "You would do this for us?"

Prowl nodded firmly. "Yes."

The CMO continued to consider him for another half breem and then nodded. "I will speak to my staff. Expect to hear from me within the next few orns."

"Yes, sir." Prowl returned the gesture and then turned to leave, having recognized the dismissal in the medic's tone.

… … …

Ratchet watched Prowl leave, considering the mech's back and the words they had just shared. It was a surprise for sure, the offer itself as well as the gesture it represented. Or, perhaps, it was not so surprising after all. After a full breem lost in his own thoughts, he sent out a ping to his entire staff, except for the ones currently in recharge, and called them to the main medical bay for a staff meeting.

He really did not like meetings, but this situation called for one.

All of his assistants were gathered by the time he stepped out of his office. As usual, he wasted no time, meeting the optic of every mech under his command. "Everyone here knows that we are, as unarmed medics, targets on the battlefield."

Livewire, a smallish brown colored femme working as a senior medical technician nodded with a tiny shiver. "Yeah, I try not to think about it."

Ratchet saw the various motions of agreement from the other medics. He nodded. "We all know Prowl was responsible for that policy." More nods, though First Aid was frowning. Ratchet ignored him and continued. "He was just here with a proposal to counteract that, which he wished to present for your consideration."

Optics around the room widened as they stared at him as if unable to believe their audios. First Aid alone did not seem surprised at the offer and recovered first. "What is that proposal, Ratchet?"

Ratchet drew in and released a long vent of air. "He is offering to train any of us who are interested in self-defense."

First Aid stared at him as the others immediately started protesting or hissing in surprise. When First Aid finally spoke, he did so loud enough it shut the other murmurs of disbelief up. "Do you think he can do it? I mean Ironhide, um…"

Ratchet nodded as his apprentice left that sentence unfinished. No one wanted to be reminded of that ill-fated adventure. "If anyone can, _he_ can. He is apparently a Circuit Su Master. He is already training the Prime. Such an offer… it is a great honor, I believe."

"It is the _least_ he could do." Jolt bit out, blue armor flaring briefly.

Ratchet nodded. "That too. And he knows that as well. I believe that is also one of the reasons he is making the offer."

Patch, a green and yellow mech only a handful of vorns into his first assignment out of primary medical college looked at his fellows nervously. "But… he's a Decepticon. Ironhide was hard enough. I don't think I could handle it."

First Aid looked at Patch sharply and spoke before Ratchet could. "Actually, I think he will be a much more patient teacher than Ironhide."

Jolt shook his head, looking at First Aid. "Just because he talks to you in a civil manner…"

"He let me work on his Doorwings, Jolt." First Aid cut him off. "Because he knew I needed to get the experience and he knew none of the other Praxians on the base will let me. Knowing _his_ would be the first ones I've ever actually worked on. And he never put any pressure on me at all."

There was stillness in the medical ward as the others took this in. They had known, peripherally that Prowl had consented to let First Aid work on him frequently, but Ratchet had never seen fit to fill them in on the details. That was between First Aid and Prowl.

Then First Aid looked back at him. "I want to learn."

Jolt glanced at First Aid then he too nodded, looking at his boss. "I'll give it a try. I'm tired of being a helpless target."

Livewire shook her helm. "Not me, I'd rather take my chances."

A couple of others indicated agreement with the femme.

Patch looked nervously between the two who had refused and then met First Aid's optics. "Do… do you really think he will be patient with us?"

First Aid looked at the slightly smaller mech and nodded, smiling faintly. "He will be patient. He has to know he is getting mechs who know absolutely _nothing_ about fighting. I don't think he would have made the offer if he wasn't prepared to deal with that."

Patch looked uncertain, his armor shifting on his frame as he doubtlessly remembered Ironhide's attempts to train them. It was an experience most of them preferred not to remember.

First Aid smiled wider. "Hound told me that, according to Ironhide, Prowl is teaching Bluestreak to shoot. Bluestreak is enjoying it immensely. I think he will be a great teacher… Smokescreen seems to think so too, and he was Prowl's apprentice… um, before the war."

Patch blinked and then straightened, drawing up his courage. "I don't want to be a target either. I… I'll try it too."

Ratchet blinked at the newest member of his medical staff. He had not expected the smaller mech to be that adventurous or brave. Perhaps he should keep a closer optic on him. There might be more there than he had initially thought.

"What about Wheeljack?" First Aid asked suddenly, drawing Ratchet's attention back to his own apprentice.

Ratchet paused, frowning as he considered the question. "He's not technically on the medical staff, even if he works with us regularly. He doesn't go on the front lines very often."

"But he is one of the most brilliant engineers we have, even if he's a little loose in the processor occasionally." First Aid insisted.

Jolt snorted quietly as Ratchet shook his helm. "I don't know that Prowl would be willing to extend his offer outside the medical corps."

First Aid was silent for an astrosecond then brightened. "Well… there is one way to know, isn't there?" He gestured to pause his part in the conversation and activated his comm. before he could talk himself out of it.

_/First Aid to Prowl…/_

The reply was almost immediate if a touch surprised and a bit distracted. _/This is Prowl. Can I help you, First Aid?/_

First Aid found himself instantly put at ease by the polite tenor of Prowl's digital voice. _/Um… maybe. Ratchet was just telling us about your offer to train us to defend ourselves…/ _He trailed off, not sure how to phrase his real question.

_/…Yes?/_ Prowl inquired gently when the pause grew long.

Gathering his own courage, taking confidence in the things he had told Patch, but still not quite able to forget the way he had treated Prowl the last time the Praxian had been under his care – even if the mech had forgiven him – First Aid plunged ahead. _/Well, I really appreciate the offer and I know __**I'm**__ going to take you up on it. But I was wondering, well, Wheeljack sometimes works with us, even though technically he is engineering and… um… I was wondering if it would… I mean, I don't even know if he's interested… but…/_

A touch of patient amusement filtered over the comm. channel and seeped into Prowl's voice as he gently cut him off. _/If Wheeljack is interested, I have no objections to teaching him what I am able to./_

First Aid laughed at himself, at his foolish anxiety over the matter, as he thanked Prowl and signed off. He was smiling triumphantly as he looked back at Ratchet. "He's fine with it."

Ratchet cocked an optic ridge, bemused. "Yes." He drawled. "I'm sure those were his exact words."

* * *

_Hope this one made sense. The reason I separated the last two chapters was not primarily due to length, it was due to the volume of different things that happened. I figured it would be easier/better to read if I gave you a brief break between the events. (So yes, I know this one is rather short. I have a feeling the next one will make up for that. :D ) I know I didn't use the Twins' POV, but I did come back to them. Hehehe. Just so you don't get your hopes up however, this chapter is only posted so quick because it was already written when I decided to split it from the previous one. _

_As always, I look forward to reviews and want to hear your thoughts._


	32. Private Investigation

_Here is the next installment. As I promised, more Elita One! I have to admit, I was hesitant to post this, primarily because I am rather unfamiliar with Elita's cannon character. I __**think**__ I've portrayed it accurately enough for government work but… since I don't work for the government, I'm not sure that's good enough (if I got it wrong, you'll know the place when you see it). If anyone is very familiar with her character and you have constructive comments, please share.) Please keep in mind though that this is early in the war and she and Optimus have really not been in their respective leadership roles for a long time… and Elita doesn't have the matrix to lend her immediate 'wisdom of the ages' like Optimus does…at least not directly. _

_Note: The first part of this chapter takes place simultaneously with parts of the last two chapters... I'm sure you'll figure it out._

* * *

_(Immediately following the Command Staff briefing.)_

Elita One followed her sparkmate back to his office, well aware that her frustration, irritation and concern were washing across their bond, bombarding Optimus with the full force of the emotions she did not let show on her face plate. Just to punctuate the strength of her feelings, she refused his attempts to calm her.

He was going to explain why a mech like _Prowl_ was now trusted to brief the command team, why she had _not_ been notified and just why the _pit_ he thought it was a good idea. And, judging by the set of his shoulder plating, he was well aware of her intentions.

No sooner did the door close behind them than she spun around, pinning Optimus with her simmering glare. "So… I leave for a few quartex and when I come back not only have we invited one of the most notorious Decepticons into our ranks, we are _trusting_ him with the very defense of _Iacon_?"

Her words came out in a near hiss, and she was only distantly aware that Optimus had locked the door and soundproofed his office. She watched him as, instead of answering immediately, he deliberately walked to lean against the edge of his desk.

It was his way of asking her to try and calm down. "It was not an easy process for him. But I am glad he has persevered."

She stared, optics widening as her sparkmate's private thoughts filtered across their bond and thus her awareness, and she realized he was doing nothing to prevent it from happening. He wanted her to feel what he was feeling. Respecting her sparkmate as deeply as she did, she honored his silent request.

When she did, however, the hiss of air through her systems was not something she could prevent. "You _like_ him. You _want_ him to be _more_ than just an Autobot tactician!"

Optimus did not object, nor did he recoil – either physically or from her mental touch through their bond – he just absorbed her reaction with all the patience and steadfastness she had missed during their separation. But even that was not enough to settle her rattled processors at this unexpected and unwelcomed development.

Elita shook her helm. "I followed your lead in the briefing because we needed to show a united front before the others. But… Orion…"

She could not fight his patient presence in her spark any longer and she looked down, feeling defeated though she did not know why. It was too much to be asked to trust this… _Decepticon. _ Especially after what she had seen during latest mission escorting a convoy of neutral femmes to a colony in another star system.

"Elita, dearspark… Do not judge Prowl before you get to know him – Prowl, the _mech_ – not just his reputation or his past." Optimus' gentle words rumbled over her as a warm hand landed encouragingly on her shoulder.

Leaning into his touch, she looked up into his optics.

Even though she knew it would do little good as she could feel the steel in his convictions in this matter, she was about to object. But what she saw in his tender gaze, what she felt through their bond, stilled her instinctive recoil.

At length Elita nodded her acceptance of the challenge.

Optimus trusted Prowl. Something in the matrix had strengthened that instinct and, as much as she might disagree, she respected and trusted her sparkmate enough to try. That did not mean she would be easily won over.

By the time Elita One left Optimus' office, her processor was already spinning about the best way to learn more about Prowl. She wanted the truth, not whatever front he might put up for mechs to see. She wanted to see inside his processor, to see what really made him tick. Short of hunting him down and forcing a scan on him, she needed to talk to someone who had already done that.

As a prisoner he would have been interrogated. Yes. That was her answer.

With a determined lift of her chin she started the sometimes-laborious task of hunting down their head of special operations.

… … …

Surprisingly, Jazz was actually in his office when she finally found him. Oh, it might have been easier to just comm. him, but she had her own reputation to maintain and it was good practice for her tracking skills.

He looked up from the datapad he had been reviewing when she walked in. He blinked and then smiled with true happiness, even though his visor remained in place.

"Elita One, a pleasure, as always." Then he studied her more closely, saw that she was not as jovial as he was at the moment, and his lip plates tightened. "What can I do for ya ma'am?"

She put her hands on his desk and leaned her weight on them. "So… what is the deal with Prowl?"

Jazz's helm jerked back at the clipped question. "What 'bout him?"

Elita lowered herself into the vacant chair behind her. "Optimus believes we can trust him… that _I_ can trust him. You interrogated him, didn't you?"

"I did." Jazz straightened. "My report is on record and ya have access to it."

"I know, I haven't looked at it yet." Elita admitted, considering the saboteur carefully. "Do you think he can be trusted?"

Jazz's nod was immediate. "Yeah, I do. He's more than earned a chance."

Elita frowned, not expecting such a firm statement from _Jazz._ "It isn't like you to so easily trust a Decepticon."

"_Former_ 'Con." Jazz corrected softly, with a shake of his helm. "I've been in his head four different times. I know what he coulda done and didn't." She felt Jazz's focus shift to somewhere in his own memories. "I know what he had a right ta do and didn't even consider, Elita."

"Like what?" She asked, disconcerted by Jazz's demeanor.

"He never resisted me." Jazz focused back on her with an effort. "Not when he was a POW with fresh wounds and immobilized in my interrogation cell. Not when he was a paroled prisoner right after his first patrol. Not even when we falsely attributed a major loss to him and I fragmented him outta spite 'cause I was angry and felt betrayed."

Elita drew back at that, at the genuine regret she heard in Jazz's tone, as restrained as it was. "I wouldn't have expected that."

"None of us did, but that's what we got." Jazz focused fully on her again. "He's taken more slag than any mech should have ta and he ain't ever complained 'cause he believes he deserves it at some level… says he knows his place and doesn't object to it."

Elita just blinked, and Jazz nodded. "He's got skills and talent ta be a great asset and, more than that, he's _willing._ I've learned he also has tha character for it too. He's one of us now, ain't no two ways about it."

"You're serious." It was an observation, not a question.

"Very."

"Thank you, Jazz." Elita said thoughtfully, deciding she needed to read his official report before speaking to anyone else.

She was only two steps from the door when Jazz called out again. "Elita One…"

She turned toward him, to see he had retracted his visor. The seriousness in his expression was so unlike his usual jauntiness that it gave her pause. This was not the Jazz she had come to know, this Jazz was almost… dangerous… even if he was not overtly threatening. She had known his skill-set, knew what he was capable of and how dangerous he was in theory. She had never been confronted with it so directly before.

"Yes?" She asked cautiously.

"If you're wanting ta learn about Prowl, I'd suggest just talking ta _him_. But preferably not in a crowded place; he's apt ta open up more that way." He met her gaze steadily. He was dead serious.

She nodded, taking his words to spark. "I will keep that in mind. But I do want to know more about him first."

So saying, Elita went back to her own office and pulled up the records concerning Prowls initial defection and interrogation.

First was Ironhide's report on his capture, though 'capture' was perhaps too strong a term. He had apparently surrendered in the ruins of Praxus after he had been discovered crawling out of the wreckage of a building. He had been severely, though not critically, injured but instead of negotiating for his own treatment, his negotiations had entirely focused on making sure Bluestreak would be taken care of. So much so, Ironhide had suspected that Bluestreak might have been his own sparkling, perhaps raised in secret from his Decepticon masters… until Prowl had admitted who he was. The thought of the rumored emotionless Decepticon tactician having a 'secret' sparkling was nearly ridiculous, not to mention Prowl himself had admitted that Bluestreak was an orphan whom he had found during the attack.

Even so, he had still surrendered, not lifting a hand to defend himself or even once complaining at all about his status or treatment. And, according to Ironhide's report, those who captured him had not been shy about expressing their anger and disgust at what the Decepticons had done in numerous petty ways. There had been a general assumption that Prowl had masterminded that assault, and that it was only a miracle of poor communications that he had gotten caught in it.

Elita had to admit, she assumed the same thing; what else was she to assume? That was what made Optimus' willingness to trust him so… disturbing and infuriating.

She closed that report and opened Jazz's about his initial interrogation.

Just as the silver saboteur had stated, his report confirmed that not only did Prowl not fight his deep scan, he had actually cooperated. She read Jazz's brief analysis of Prowl's firewalls and then felt her systems hitch when he stated that the tactician then lowered them voluntarily. Blinking she only quickly perused the data he had retrieved from Prowl's processor and had to admit that it was substantial and comprehensive. And she shared the mech's shock that Prowl would then offer a personal file to his interrogator.

She reread the last paragraph twice.

_Over all, it is my belief that Prowl volunteered because he wants the Autobots to use the information he has to defeat Megatron. He was willing to give me the information even though he believed I would destroy his mind in the process. My official recommendation is to offer Prowl a chance to defect, though additional precautions should be used because of his rank and abilities._

She stared at the screen. Apparently Optimus had chosen to follow that recommendation. There were three other reports on file, each from a different scan Jazz had done, but Elita did not open them, feeling sure she knew what she would find. She would come back to them later if she needed to.

Thoughtfully, Elita tapped a finger on her chin plating. Since Prowl was allowed to defect, Ratchet would have doubtlessly ran the second scan required by the regulations covering the treatment of prisoners and defecting enemy soldiers.

Closing out Jazz's report, the Femme Commander quickly called up the CMO's report.

Like Jazz, Ratchet clearly stated that Prowl had cooperated. She went on to read his evaluation of the Praxian's ethical programming and personality matrix. What she read surprised her. Drumming her fingers on her desk a moment she stood. She wanted clarification for a couple of points and there was only one way to get it.

Thankfully, unlike Jazz, Ratchet was usually easy to find.

She entered the med bay slowly but not really hesitantly to see Ratchet was at a monitor going over some readings but that there were no patients currently in residence. She walked toward him, sending him a gentle ping to announce her presence an astrosecond before she spoke.

"Ratchet, do you have a moment?" He looked at her, expression softening in greeting and nodded. She watched him pull a cloth out of subspace to wipe his hands as she continued.

She got right to the point, knowing Ratchet did not like to waste time. "You stated in your initial report on Prowl that he was potential Autobot material if his ethical programs could adapt to our protocols." He nodded again. "You believe that?"

Ratchet looked at her, raising an optic ridge fractionally. "I was right, wasn't I?"

Elita frowned. "But he was responsible for the targeting of medics… along with a lot of other atrocities. That is hardly Autobot material."

Ratchet grimaced, looking back at his hands as he continued to clean chemical residue from them. "Yes."

"Yet you still said as much." Elita pressed, watching the medic's face carefully.

Ratchet stilled completely and turned all his attention back to her. Then he flicked the cleaning cloth back into subspace. Elita was caught by the sincerity in the medic's optics.

He nodded slowly, evaluating her reaction to his words. "Prowl's decision to issue that directive was strictly based on logic coupled with his loyalties at the time. He has since proven that he no longer believes such actions are appropriate and has taken steps – _is_ taking steps – to right them where he can."

Elita could not stop her surprised blink. "Like what?"

Ratchet lifted one hand and counted off on his fingers. "For one, he has extended an all but open invitation to let First Aid get whatever experience he can. He started with his doorwings."

"His doorwings?" Elita echoed, her own vents flaring a fraction as she tried to reconcile that proclamation with the image of Prowl she had in her processors. "But…"

"Yes." Ratchet cut her off, though for him it was gently done. "He is the only Praxian on base who will even let First Aid near his doorwings. Do you know why? He has the foresight to see that only one medic with the skills to work on doorwings is not good. He also understood that every medic has to begin somewhere and was willing to let that 'somewhere' be him."

Ratchet's optics narrowed, almost as if he was wary of how she might respond to what he said next. "It is much like Optimus was the first to allow him to work on delicate motor wiring."

"You compare this, this… _Decepticon_ to my Optimus?" Elita felt her frame heat with indignation and, even though she knew that was probably what Ratchet was wary about she did not care.

Ratchet's armor flattened fractionally at the growl of her engine, hearing clearly the warning in her voice. Even so he nodded. "Yes. In many ways. Foremost, because he puts the needs of others before himself. What he is doing for First Aid is just one example."

Still stiff, Elita acknowledged that statement with nothing more than a forcibly bland. "I see."

Ratchet straightened. "Do you, Elita?"

It was not a challenge, not for dominance, and Elita knew that. But it was still a challenge and it mirrored the one Jazz and Optimus had both leveled, only with Ratchet's typical brusqueness.

Apparently Prowl had accumulated a fair amount of support if all three of those mechs believed he deserved the trust he was being given.

For a brief moment Elita tried, she really did, to accept that based on their testimony alone. But she could not. Not for a mech like Prowl and not based on what she had felt from her sparkmate. _She_ was not convinced enough to risk Optimus' life on the evidence she had accrued just yet.

She thanked Ratchet for his time and left the med bay. She needed to rethink her strategy.

… … …

Elita One joined Chromia in the rec room later that orn, as the lounge was beginning to clear out from the change of shift rush. There were still a fair number of mechs and femmes present, but their numbers were thinning. Chromia had proven to be a wonderful distraction from the thoughts that had been troubling her since the briefing early that orn. Not to mention the prospect of getting to meet her new mechling charge, Bumblebee, when they were done was just too tempting to pass up.

Besides that, Chromia was the only one on the base who would share the base gossip with her, but that was what good friends were for.

Chromia was in the middle of bringing her up to speed with the latest trouble the Twins had managed to get themselves into when movement at the rec room door drew Elita's attention.

It was Prowl.

The low, threatening rev of her engine was instinctual and happened before she caught it. Even afterward, she found her hand tightening on her energon cube.

Sensing her mood and the shift in her attention, Chromia followed her gaze. "Ah. Yeah, he doesn't like crowds, so he tends to avoid them."

Elita nodded, her optics following the black and white mech only to snag on the small blue and gray form that his frame had been hiding when he had first entered. It was a sparkling. _Bluestreak_ her processor supplied the youngling's designation from the reports she had read.

Somehow she had forgotten that the Decepticon – _former_ Decepticon she reminded herself – had been made the young orphan's guardian. The very idea of _that_ mech assuming such a role was…

Her jaw fell slack as she watched Prowl let Bluestreak take his hand and lead him to an empty table after they selected their energon. The adult Praxian then obligingly settled into the specific chair the youngling pointed him to.

It was almost impossible to believe and if her own optics had not recorded it, she would have said it was impossible.

"Has he been a good caretaker, Chromia?" She asked softly.

Chromia looked that way as well and Elita would have sworn there was the hint of a smile touching her lip plates when she answered. "I'd have to say so. Though I wouldn't have thought it possible at first."

That snapped Elita's attention back to her friend. "Why?"

Chromia shrugged as if it were self-explanatory. "Well, he is – _was_ – a 'Con." The blue femme took a deliberate sip of her energon, set the cube down and then shrugged again. "Eh. First time I actually met him was right before his first patrol. Threatened to teach him a lesson if 'Blue ever developed Decepticon tendencies from being in his care. You know what he did?"

Elita grimaced, almost able to picture such a reaction. "I can only imagine."

But Chromia only chuckled, shaking her helm once at the memory. "He said that if such a lesson were ever necessary, he'd expect it to be painful."

"He did." Elita could only stare at the other femme. "Just like that?"

Chromia nodded vigorously. "Yep. Left me speechless."

Elita blinked, glancing back at the mech in question only to see that he was entirely focused on the youngling beside him, who seemed to chattering incessantly. As she watched, he put two fingers to his temple to indicate a comm. message, but whatever it was must have been brief because his attention was soon back on his charge.

"I only know of two other mechs who can cool your jets like that." Elita whispered, finding she was distinctly uneasy.

"I know." Chromia agreed. "Ironhide and Optimus."

Elita stiffened as yet again this Decepticon, former or otherwise, was once more compared to her sparkmate.

"Anything else he's done? Anything else I should know about him?" Elita asked, though her tone was more formal and curt than it had been.

Chromia straightened at the change in her demeanor and her expression became more composed as well as she thought about her answer. "Well, he also managed to keep Ironhide from doing something stupid their first patrol together. Apparently my loveable lug-nut was almost in his own full blown rage at the time."

Elita only stared, her optics darting back towards Prowl. "But… Optimus is the only other one I know who can do that."

Chromia's mute nod of agreement was solemn.

As if sensing their regard, Prowl's attention suddenly shifted to the two femmes. The surprising depth of his rich cobalt gaze made Elita's vent's hitch as their optics met briefly.

But, just as he had in the briefing room, Prowl averted his gaze quickly and respectfully. Disconcerted, Elita broke the contact entirely, rising to her pedes and looking at Chromia.

"Its good to be back. Thank you for sharing energon with me, but I have work I must do."

"Elita." Chromia's hand closed over the one the Femme Commander still had on the table. Her gaze remained serious. "Give him a chance."

Elita blinked, then found herself nodding. "I think I will, but I'm not ready yet."

Chromia searched her optics for a long moment then nodded, releasing Elita's wrist. "Yeah, I know. It took me a long time too. But he saved Ironhide's life when he could have gone back to the 'Cons."

Elita stared. She knew what Chromia was saying. "I'm still not ready. I need to know more."

Chromia considered that then nodded again. "Do what you have to do, Elita. I think he's an okay mech, but _you_ will always have my support."

"Thank you." Elita said quietly and then bid her farewell.

… … …

The next orn Elita found Ironhide in the firing range, happily blasting away targets during his routine 'training.' She smiled faintly as she watched him from the safety of the doorway. He enjoyed this so much it was hardly training. He looked rather like a youngling playing his favorite game.

After a breem spent just watching him and appreciating the enjoyment he was obviously having, Elita sent him a polite ping to announce her presence.

He lowered his weapon's immediately though he did not retract them into his arms yet, the tell-tale simmering in the air evidence that they were still too hot, and turned toward her with a rueful smile. "Ah, Elita. Chromia warned me you might try to find me."

Elita smiled, despite herself. She had missed being around her closest friends. "If you didn't wish to be found Ironhide, you should vary your routine a little. Or at least pick somewhere else to hang out."

Ironhide laughed briefly then sobered. "So… can I assume this has to do with your inquisition about our newest tactician?"

The reminder of her purpose sobered Elita as well, and the smile fell from her lip plates. "He is a former Decepticon."

Ironhide nodded. "I know. But you have to admit, he's come a long way since then."

Elita considered that briefly. True, the mech had defended her sparkmate's honor. The image of Prowl and little Bluestreak ran through her processor again. But Decepticons were deceptive by nature. As much as she wanted Optimus to be right, as much as she wanted to believe Jazz, Ratchet and her best friend… it was too much.

He had come a long way, but… "Far enough to be able to trust him this much?"

Ironhide looked at her, regarding her carefully, doubtlessly choosing his words. "Prowl is, perhaps, one of the most deadly mechs on this base. We interrupted him and Optimus sparing once." Elita flinched and Ironhide hesitated a moment before continuing. "We came in just as Prowl managed to pin Optimus to the ground, his life at Prowl's mercy."

Elita's optics widened in shocked horror. She well knew Optimus' strengths and abilities.

But Ironhide held up a hand to forestall her comment. "Jazz and I… we reacted like you'd expect. Elita… he could've torn us to shreds. Well, he could have torn _me_ to shreds – not so sure about Jazz. But instead he let us throw him against the wall. He let us subdue him without a lick of resistance when he hadn't done anything but follow orders."

Elita blinked, then narrowed her optics. "And this makes you trust him? That he can defeat Optimus?"

Ironhide nodded, much to Elita's consternation. "He surrendered to me in Praxus without a fight to save Bluestreak when I _know_ he could have probably defeated our entire team even as injured as he was. But he didn't. He never did. He has accepted whatever place any of us wanted to put him in without complaint. Do you know any 'Cons who would do that?"

Elita stared for a long moment then deflated. "No. No I don't."

"You know what else?" Ironhide asked with a cocked optic ridge. "He's teaching Optimus Circuit Su. Did you know that?"

Elita could only blink. "No… we haven't had… time… to discuss such matters. I would not have expected that." She suddenly wanted away, almost afraid that Ironhide would dump _more_ unwelcome and unexpected news on her. "Thank you Ironhide."

She turned to leave, but he called out to her again.

"One more thing." She turned back reluctantly. "You might want to get used to the idea of trusting him. Like Smokescreen said, he _will_ be leading the development of future offensive strategies."

"I see." She lifted her chin, sensing there was a lot more behind that statement that she was missing.

… … …

Feeling rather disconcerted and off kilter, Elita retreated back to her office. She was so absorbed in her own thoughts that she almost jumped when the mech entering the lift with her greeted her respectfully.

She blinked back to reality and identified him easily enough. She returned the greeting. "Good orn, Hound."

He smiled and then politely turned his attention back to his datapad. Elita was about to do the same, but his presence triggered something in her memory banks from one of the reports she had read about Prowl.

One that had been written by Hound.

She focused again on the green scout. "You have gone on several missions with Prowl, isn't that correct?" She heard herself asking.

Hound blinked, looking back at her with surprise at the sudden question and then nodded, lowering the datapad to give her his full, respectful attention. "Yes ma'am."

"And what do you think about the fact that he is now an Autobot?"

Hound considered that question then answered. "I wouldn't have expected it at first, but I'm glad it's finally happened. I mean, he's done enough for us that it would be rather ungrateful if it never came about."

She let her engine thrum unhappily. "And the fact that he may very well be planning the defense of Iacon, as well as any future offensive maneuvers?"

To her surprise Hound actually smiled. "_I'd_ be relieved, though I don't know about others. I know there are a lot who wouldn't be happy, but he is the best tactician I've ever worked with. I mean, Smoky's great and all, but Prowl… its as much art as it is science with him. And as far as defending Iacon? We couldn't be in better hands. He once orchestrated the defense of a dilapidated way-station with just him – severely injured by the Decepticons who captured and tortured him – myself, Springer and Moonracer against twenty-something Decepticons. Because of him the three of us are alive, and no one except him was more than lightly damaged."

"So the prospect doesn't worry you at all?" She pressed.

Hound did not even hesitate. "No."

Once more it felt like the world was swimming around her. Thankfully, the lift chimed as it reached the floor her destination was on and the door slid open. "Thank you Hound." She offered quietly and then hurriedly stepped off.

Once back in her office she sat down at her desk and stared at its blank screen for a long breem before reaching forward to access its databases. For a handful of seconds, she hesitated, not entirely sure what she was looking for. Then she remembered Ironhide's comment about a sparing match between her Optimus and Prowl.

Quickly narrowing the search parameters, Elita soon found the security footage of the training room. There were joors and joors of data to comb through so she narrowed the criteria again to only include times in which Optimus was also present. Three files remained.

Taking in a draft of air to prepare herself, she initiated a play back of the first one.

On the screen she saw Prowl sitting on the mat of what was clearly a dojo of some kind. Then Optimus entered. She watched in shock as Optimus clearly initiated the fight and her hands clinched on the desk surface at seeing just how _easily_ Prowl had taken him down.

That shock morphed slowly into consternation as Prowl then backed off, assuming a clearly submissive posture, and then surged to new heights of horror as Optimus _again_ initiated the fight.

After that, however, Prowl was almost a different mech. Where initially he had clearly only been on the defensive, he was now attacking with vigor. The ferocity with which he attacked her sparkmate sent a thrill of terror into her chassis, clenching her spark like liquid nitrogen. She sped up the playback, but the tempo never changed, the time stamp indicating the file was well over a joor long.

Her tanks felt numb at that, at realizing that her sparkmate, her other half, had been secluded with such a dangerous, deadly mech for so long. Only as the playback continued did other aspects of their fight finally filter through the horror of her first reaction: Even though he had been clearly distraught and emotionally driven initially, Optimus was never truly hurt. Then he had become more calculating and evaluating as the match continued.

She leaned forward as the file neared its end, slowing the playback speed back to normal, only to wince as once again, her beloved was pinned to the ground by the Praxian. She watched as the training room door suddenly burst open and Jazz, Ironhide and Ratchet hurried in. She got to see the incident Ironhide had referenced as Prowl was thrown against the training room wall only to have Ironhide and Jazz descend on him.

He was thrown against the wall again and then forced to his knees where he was held, roughly immobilized, as Ratchet tended to Optimus. Just as Ironhide had said he never resisted the two holding him, regardless of the fact he could probably have prevented them from laying a hand on him. His posture was that of complete surrender, even though Optimus had initiated the contest.

Nor did she miss the look of true surprise on his faceplate when Optimus offered him a hand to his pedes rather than… whatever he had been expecting and realized that he had likely complied with Optimus's order to fight assuming he could be punished for doing so.

With nearly trembling fingers she shut the terminal off, not having the energy to watch the other three video logs.

Instead of finding herself reassured, she was only more conflicted.

Ironhide was right, Prowl was far more dangerous than she had originally given him credit for. True, she now had multiple mechs telling her he was trustworthy. But they had had four quartex to get to know him personally, to observe him and to test him themselves.

She straightened, her optics brightening. Everyone had been telling her to get to know Prowl, to talk to him herself. Perhaps that was exactly what she needed. Deciding on her course of action even as she stood and exited her office, Elita made her way to the tactical command center.

… … …

The tactical command center was alive with the quiet but steady hum of activity as mechs went about their duties in an orderly, efficient manner. Smokescreen, who was standing at the primary console glanced up at Elita's entry.

He look startled, but nevertheless quickly made his way to her. "Elita One. What can I do for you?"

Elita almost smiled. Even though he had been their head tactician for nearly a decavorn, Smokescreen had never developed the ability to be at ease around any of the senior command staff, almost as if he never quite believed he deserved to be one of them. Instead of answering immediately however, she looked around the room. She saw Prowl sitting at a secondary terminal, filtering through what appeared to be a large amount of data.

She spoke quietly, not taking her optics off her target. "Did you not have a monitor assigned to him?"

Smokescreen blinked and then followed her gaze. "Oh. Well, he's only doing a preliminary analysis at the moment."

Right. Junior level work.

She canted a look at Smokescreen, keeping her voice low enough only he would be able to hear. "So… if he is as good as everyone seems to think, why isn't he running the department?"

Smokescreen gave her an odd, sharp look, then shrugged, likewise keeping his voice down. "He _should_ be. But it's too early for that." Then he became faintly accusatory. "He still doesn't even have a _rank_ yet."

Elita released a vent. She was allowing herself to become distracted. She knew herself well enough to know that was because she really did not want to have the confrontation she knew was coming.

But there was no use in delaying the inevitable

She looked back at the gray and white Praxian. "Well, I need to borrow him temporarily."

Smokescreen's optics widened, then he blinked audibly. "Oh… Right. Just a moment, ma'am."

She watched silently as Smokescreen walked over to the former Decepticon and spoke to him in tones to low for her to hear. She saw Prowl's mutedly startled reaction in a slight flinch of his doorwings and a brief glance her direction. Then it was as if a blank mask settled over his face and posture. He nodded to his department commander and rose to his pedes.

Elita stood straighter as he neared, lifting her chin. She would not tolerate any disrespect from the former Decepticon.

He hesitated mid-step, evaluating her change in posture. Then, his own body language changed significantly. It became that of deliberately respectful submission and stayed that way as he finished closing the distance between them.

"Elita One." His voice, like his posture, was deliberate and respectful. "Smokescreen said you wished to see me?"

She sized him up and down again. "Yes. Come with me."

She turned on her heel struts and walked out of the tactical command center.

Prowl followed her silently, though when they entered the lift, she was very aware that he watched her keenly as she gave the command to take them to the roof of the building. She focused on drawing air in through her vents in a steady manner, as the lift doors closed, sealing her into the small enclosure with a mech she _knew_ could tear her apart if he wanted to.

They rode in silence for a few astroseconds before his calm voice shattered it, nearly making her jump. "If I may ask, where are we going?"

"The roof." She snapped, disliking her jumpy reaction, worried, despite everything she had heard about him, about how he might respond to such an unintentional show of weakness.

His expression was a silent request for an explanation as her curt reply obviously made him hesitate to actually ask. It was rather disconcerting to experience _knowing_ how high ranking a Decepticon he had been, _knowing_ how dangerous he was.

Thrown off balance internally, she answered his unasked question. "Because it has the benefit of being relatively private while still being public enough not to be inappropriate for my purpose."

She watched him as he contemplated her words, probably attempting to determine the things she left unsaid. If he was concerned about what that purpose might be, he said nothing to that effect. Instead he merely frowned. "With all due respect, the roof is not a safe place to be right now."

Elita blinked. It sounded as if he was concerned for her safety. But that could just be a rouse; an attempt to put off whatever he suspected was going to happen by attempting to manipulate her. suspecting that, her reply was appropriately curt. "We are in the most secured building in Iacon and the entire base is on alert."

His doorwings flinched ever so slightly, but she did not know how to read that. "Still, it is not safe…"

"Not safe for _who_, Prowl?" She snapped, turning fully toward him, her optics glinting dangerously.

Prowl blinked and then his chin tucked minutely indicating a reluctance to challenge her. "You are the Prime's sparkmate. There is no need for you to take unnecessary risks…"

Growling lowly in her chassis she took one step closer. "And just how much of a risk _am_ I taking being up here with you?"

His optics widened at her challenge and then, instead of responding with a heated denial, he averted his gaze. "I am no threat to you."

Elita stared. Never had his façade of calm wavered. It just _had_ to be a front. At the very least she had to make sure. "So I have been told. But even you must admit why it is hard for me to think of you as anything else."

She stepped off the lift, half just wanting to put space between them and half wanting to see what he would do with the insult. He hesitated a moment, watching her and then he stepped out of the lift, following obediently.

He stayed a respectful distance away, but still close enough to converse easily. "If your opinion of me is so low, why are we here?"

It was asked with what had to be forced blandness, and she was a little surprised that there was nothing more than mild curiosity in his voice and not a hint of the defensiveness she had anticipated.

"To give you a chance to improve it." She turned back to him abruptly and saw a faint hint of a startled expression flash across his faceplate before it was gone. But she saw other things as well: the alert, slightly flared doorwings, the tension through his shoulder plating, the way his attention seemed divided – though not so much so she could take offense or become slighted.

Elita recognized it for what it was. Prowl was actively scanning their surroundings, watching for any threats.

He frowned faintly even as she made these observations. "I doubt there is anything I could say that will accomplish that." He spoke softly and, if she did not know better, she would have suspected there was a hint of sad resignation in his voice.

She shook her helm, one hand resting on her hip joint. "That depends. Will you be completely honest with me, Prowl?"

She asked the question and meant it, even though a part of her processor argued that it was pointless asking a _Decepticon_ to be honest – even a supposedly rehabilitated Decepticon.

Prowl's look sharpened. "Will you believe my answer?"

She smirked at realizing he was not unaware of her unspoken assumptions. "I would not be here asking you questions if I wouldn't."

She _was_ resolved to give him the chance that so many seemed to believe he had earned.

When the silence stretched longer than she expected it to, she studied him more closely. He was looking at her thoughtfully and she realized he was taking her very seriously indeed. He was evaluating her just as much as she was evaluating him, though his awareness of their surroundings never diminished.

At length Prowl released a vent of air as if he had come to some weighty decision.

Though his voice was still well controlled, she detected an almost vulnerable tremble when he spoke next. "Early in my probation, the Prime had a discussion with me during which he pointedly stressed his expectation that I speak honestly with him at all times, despite the consequences. I later made changes to my ethical coding that will prevent me from doing anything else."

Whatever she was expecting to hear, that was not it. "Why do you tell me this?"

Prowl hesitated, a faint choking noise sounding from his engine before he cleared his vents.

Now she could clearly hear the stress lacing his voice. "Because you are the Prime's sparkmate. The two of you are one and a promise given to one of you is the same as giving it to both." He met her gaze then, though there was nothing challenging about his expression. "Ask your questions, Elita One. I will answer them honestly and to the best of my ability."

Elita could only stare at him for a long second before speaking the most pressing question on her mind at the moment.

"I understand you are teaching Optimus Circuit Su." Prowl nodded once so she continued. "I saw a recording of your sparring match. Is my sparkmate in danger?"

He was looking at her seriously. "I give you my word that the Prime will never be intentionally harmed by my hand.

Elita narrowed her optics, the hand on her hip joint tightening. "That is a very strong modifier in that promise."

"I will make no promise I can not keep."

He was serious. With a brief nod she moved on. "Most of the mechs and femmes on this base don't trust you." _Even if the higher-ranking mechs already do._

He mirrored her nod. "Of this I am well aware."

Elita frowned, pursing her lip plates momentarily. "Optimus asks me to trust you, yet it is impossible to escape the fact that you are dangerous. The position he seems to think you belong in would make you even _more_ dangerous to us, should you seek to harm us."

Prowl blinked again and shifted his weight fractionally away from her and, to Elita's surprise, his gaze dropped away almost as if embarrassed. "There is more than one reason I cannot seek to harm you or any Autobot."

Elita's engine growled. This was getting her nowhere.

Prowl could say all the right things, that was obvious. But he had been a Decepticon; they were known for their silvery glossas. The leap of faith Optimus was asking her to make was too great without more proof. Oh, Optimus had not _said_ anything, but she could feel it in her spark. He held very high hopes that Prowl would not only be a valuable asset to their faction, but would eventually become a close and trusted _confidant_.

That would mean that _she_ too would have to allow this… orchestrator of destruction…close to her or it would cause Optimus great internal conflict and sparkache. They would have to be close enough she would be vulnerable should he betray them. Close enough she had to _know_, she _had_ to be absolutely sure.

She turned away from him, trying to focus. "You say you won't harm us. But that will only be good unless one of us attacks you."

Prowl was a very long time in answering. "No. Not even then."

She whirled to face him, optics blazing, but he moved nothing except to lower his own optics to the ground. "Explain."

He hesitated, as if sharing that explanation was painful or… frightening?... for him. "I cannot even defend myself without permission."

She stared at him in disbelief. "I saw you with Optimus."

He took in a vent of air, never lifting his optics. "That was a sparring match. And even then if he had been able to best my defenses…" He shook his helm cutting himself off. "Outside of a training room even less so."

Less what? She did not understand and it irritated her. "You have the skills. I've seen them." She pressed.

"Perhaps." Still he did not move. "That does not mean I may use them."

Her frustration mixed with her growing irritation, though she could not clearly define either. All she saw before her was a mystery and a potential threat not just to her but also to her _sparkmate_. She felt the sudden urge to push him, to prove the falsity in his words, to prove the danger he truly was.

"You would if your life depended on it." She spit. "Decepticons are all about saving their own lives. Most of the time that is the only reason any of you even defects." Prowl said nothing to the insults so Elita pushed further even though a small part of her spark rebelled at her behavior. "And it will happen again, the first time your life is truly on the line."

He looked at her, lifting his cobalt gaze to meet hers, though there was nothing but infuriating calmness in his optics. "You are wrong."

The objection was softly spoken but only served to irritate her further as well as build the conflict within, and between, her processor and spark.

She was tired of being manipulated. "Am I?" She growled. "You will retaliate or you will die."

She let one of her energon blades slide out of its scabbard on her forearm, locking into position. Her spark was pulsing faster, well aware that she might not survive this but did not let her self hesitate or reconsider. The price if Optimus was wrong was too great.

She spun toward the Praxian, raising the weapon and aiming at the enrgon lines feeding his processors. The blade sang through the air on its deadly arc. She expected a defense of some kind, even if only an attempt to deflect her blow.

But there was… nothing.

So completely caught off guard by that, the sharp, glowing edge of the blade had already started to bite into the armor covering his upper chassis before she caught herself, arresting the blade's momentum just in time.

And there they froze; time itself seeming to dilate between the rasping of her heaving vents.

Prowl's optics were locked onto her, while hers, in tern, her locked onto the spot on his armor were her blade was now imbedded.

It had to hurt, but he never flinched, never attempted to protect himself even now that she was motionless. He did not even attempt to remove the blade.

She shifted her gaze then, to the rest of the mech. His doorwings where dipped in that deliberate submissive posture he had affected earlier. And his optics… they caught hers. There was no fear there, not even anger or a heated demand. Only resignation and perhaps a hint of surprise that she had stopped. Optics that were a deep crystal blue, almost unfathomable now that she took the time to study them as he patiently waited for her to make the next move.

His optics were so much like Optimus.'

Her hand trembled.

The plating around his optics tightened as her tremble jostled the blade, but otherwise he did not move. All the comparisons others had made between Prowl and Optimus flooded her mind again as she could not help but make her own.

Optimus: her sparkmate, her other half… her very reason for existence.

She growled. "If Optimus comes to trust you and is ever hurt by your betrayal, you will pray to _Primus_ that I had ended you this day because if that _ever_ happens, I will make sure you suffer for any pain you have caused him and that your death will be _agonizing_!"

Those cool, calculating optics watched her carefully, taking in her threats without outward reaction.

Then he spoke, his voice just as controlled as the rest of him: "You speak as his sparkmate. What of the Femme Commander?"

Elita blinked at the gentle, almost admonishing reminder that came from the mech at her sword point. As soon as she remembered the responsibilities of her rank however, her tremors stilled.

Prowl was right. The responsibilities of her office came before personal vengeance. Thankfully, in such a hypothetical scenario, they would work well enough together. The enraged snarl fell from her lip plates and, when she spoke it was with cold regality rather than tumultuous rage.

She leaned forward, pressing on the blade just enough to convey her seriousness and felt his frame tense a fraction. "If you should ever betray the Autobots in such a manner that the Prime comes to harm, you will be held _completely_ immobilized in our most secure cell until you can be tried for your crime and then you will be publicly executed in the harshest manner allowed by our laws."

Prowl's optics flashed briefly but it was not defensive or angry. Then he nodded, though the motion was truncated by the blade still biting into his armor. "Your warnings are duly noted, Elita One. I give you _my_ word that should the Prime ever come to harm because of the reasons you stipulated, I will not resist whichever method of reprisal you choose."

Looking into Prowl's optics, Elita suddenly realized she believed him. She was not sure why, only that she did.

Abruptly she deactivated her blade and lowered it, acutely aware he had allowed her to brace him like that, that he probably would have allowed her to do whatever she had wanted, even if he had not survived. Just like Ironhide had described. Just like Jazz had hinted at. Just like Hound's report had stated.

Suddenly she felt immeasurably guilty.

What else might there have been in all the reports she had _not_ taken the time to read that could have kept her from taking it this far? She realized with a lurching, sickening sensation that she had done exactly what Optimus had silently pleaded with her not to do; she had acted impulsively without knowing the full datafile. It made her sick.

As close as she was to Prowl, she could not miss the way his frame relaxed once the blade was gone. Hastily, Elita stepped back to give him room.

They regarded each other silently for a long time, then he lowered his gaze to a neutral point. Never once did he investigate the laceration she had given him.

"Do you feel better now?" He asked voice just as gentle as it had been before.

Elita looked at him sharply, suddenly seeing her recent behavior as the illogical, emotion-driven, unprofessional outburst that it had been.

She took a deep vent, taking another step backward to give him more space. "I behaved badly."

"You behaved honestly." Prowl stated softly. "I cannot fault that."

Elita closed her optic shutters briefly, this… former Decepticon's tacit forgiveness was almost more than she could handle. She stepped back again. "I should let you get back to work."

He did not retreat to the lift as she expected him to. Instead he stood his ground, though his posture never changed. "With all due respect, it remains true that this roof is relatively unsafe. I cannot leave you up here alone."

Elita stared at him, then felt a wave of indignation that he would presume to order her. "I am not ready to go back inside."

She spun away from him, walking quickly to the banister. She rested her hands on it and looked out across the cityscape. Most of the buildings were still standing, though on the edges of the city ruins attested to the times the war had made it close enough to leave its scars on the ancient architecture. But she did not really see any of that as she processed what had just happened.

She felt Prowl move closer, following her, but not too close; not within her personal space. Instead it was as if he was shadowing her, almost like a bodyguard would.

Which was exactly the role he had assumed, she realized as a brief glanced showed he was scanning the surrounding structures with sharp, watchful optics, his doorwings flared to bring in as much data as possible. It was the role he had assumed from the moment they had stepped out of the lift and had likely maintained even as her blade had descended on him.

That realization made her tanks roil even as, despite everything, she felt… safer.

She was not sure if she welcomed that feeling. She did not really know this mech, and what she did know about him was conflicting. Unless… unless he was truly Autobot now. She looked back to the city, feeling even worse for the injury she had given.

"You should report me for treating you like that." She said softly.

The noise that came from Prowl's engine was not exactly a laugh – more like a stuttering release of air through his vents.

"I _could._" He admitted. "That does not mean that I _shall. _ It was only logical an altercation such as this would occur and, in the end, I believe more good has come of it than harm. Do you not agree?"

Elita turned to look at him, calmly this time. "I don't know. Have I given you reason to doubt your decision to join us?"

She was rewarded by a tiny, barely there smirk and a rueful shake of his helm as his gaze focused momentarily on his own memories. "It will take far more than this. It is only natural for you to be concerned about what has happened. I imagine it was a great shock for you to see me in that briefing room if you had no prior knowledge of my defection." Elita snorted air at that, but Prowl continued. "Have you found the answers you sought?"

Elita cocked an optic ridge. "You are surprisingly generous."

Prowl's doorwings flicked in disagreement. "The Prime was surprisingly generous in allowing me the chance to become an Autobot. I can hardly do less."

"So…" She began suddenly suspicious. "Your kindness is offered in obligation only then?"

Where he had not winced as her blade had descended on him, Prowl winced fractionally before his mask of neutrality reasserted itself. "I did not mean to give that impression."

"Explain." She half ordered, half requested.

Prowl considered her for a sparkbeat and then dipped his helm formally. "There were things clearly weighing on your processor. If I was the only safe outlet… so be it."

Elita could only stare at him, slowly processing what he had said. Somehow this taciturn mech had realized that she had been developing an emotional overload on this issue and had resolved to help her deal with it, regardless of what that meant for him.

"Why…?" She breathed the question, not truly intending to ask it.

His look was almost canted as he turned his gaze back to the city. "You are the Femme Commander. The Prime depends on you being able to function with a clear processor in a crisis and… as I outlined in the briefing, we could find ourselves in that crisis at any time."

He looked back at her and she was struck by the hints of the well-concealed compassion in his optics. "Besides, it was not hard to extrapolate that I was the cause."

She stared at him, almost mesmerized by the depth of his gaze… that gaze that was so much like Optimus'.

This time that comparison did not send stabs of resentment through her spark. This time she thought she understood. Her own faceplate softened a fraction.

"I think I begin to understand what my sparkmate sees in you." Elita said softly.

Elita watched his optics widen as surprise flicked across his face.

He opened his mouth to respond, but before he could his head snapped up, his attention instantly elsewhere. Her own, highly acute sensors, finally picked up on what had distracted him a full three seconds later and only a second before the perimeter defenses lit up. Simultaneously a distant building shuddered before splintering under enemy fire.

Prowl stepped up beside her, focused on the bourgeoning battle as the sounds from the attack finally reached their position, the concussions ricocheting off the metal around them.

"It is starting." Prowl said needlessly, turning to her, the light in his optics fierce and intense. "We must finish this discussion at a later date, ma'am. We cannot stay here."

Elita nodded, knowing she would be needed with the defense teams. She stepped back from the banister and turned, bolting for the lift.

Prowl was right behind her and the impression that he had assumed the unofficial role of body guard hit her again, especially as he stayed right on her heels, but never attempted to out pace her.

Suddenly the sound of an incoming missile whistled through the air only a second before a nearby building took the hit. Metal exploded in a shower of sparks and shrapnel.

The explosion followed them into the lift as Elita all but dove for the door, tumbling into it. She winced, waiting to feel the sting of shrapnel biting into her armor. She barely registered that the sensation never came as her internal comm. lit up with frantic system updates, alerts and attempts from commanders to direct the troops and mobilize their forces.

On her command frequencies, Optimus was snapping out orders with that unfathomable calm, but internally she could feel his spark's anxiety. Defending from an attack such as this, of this magnitude, was new for him. She checked in, issuing her own orders even as she pushed herself into a more respectable position and turned to look at Prowl.

The lift was dropping, doubtlessly at the tactician's command, for which she was grateful. She was about to say as much but then her optics widened as she saw the metal shards imbedded in his frame, the blue energon seeping from multiple lacerations and she realized immediately it was no stroke of luck she had not felt the sting of shrapnel from that explosion.

She gaped at him in mute surprise.

His optics focused on her. "Are you injured, Elita One?"

She blinked and managed to shake her helm. "No… but you are."

Prowl only grimaced. "Nothing significant."

Elita's processor stuttered at that, almost unable to comprehend what he must have experienced if that much damage was considered insignificant to him, especially as she caught a glimpse of energon dripping from lacerations to his doorwings.

The lift stopped and the doors slid open on the command level and Prowl stepped off. Suddenly prompted back into action, Elita reached out and grabbed his arm.

"You need a medic…" She began

He looked at her, and though it was brief she thought she saw a flash of startled appreciation in his otherwise stoic visage. "I have a job to do first. My injuries can wait."

With that he was gone, walking down the corridor at a rapid pace. Only the slight hitch in his gait and the scant trail of glowing liquid energy indicated he was injured.

Then the lights flickered and the walls shook as the Command Center itself took a hit. Thank Primus it was heavily shielded. It spurred her back into motion again and she hit the command that would take her to the street level. Her strike team had a role to play and she was its commander. She too had a job to do.

She had just stepped out when static hissed through the comm. an astrosecond before Hardstrike's desperate voice filled her audios. "Slag! They've made it past our outer perimeter defenses!"

* * *

_Don't hit me. *Cringes and hides behind the couch* _

_*Pokes head up* At least look at it this way… next chapter we get to see Prowler in action! *Quickly ducks back behind the couch.*_


	33. Aggressive Defense

_Should I warn everyone to hold on to your seats? Do you really need me to tell you that by this point in the story? Eh… Whatever. *evil maniacal laugh….* (Sorry, sleep deprivation strikes again.) Anyway, this one sort of feels rough around the edges to me... but that could just be because action-oriented sequences are difficult for me to write. I might go back and touch it up a bit more if I need to, and I'm sure you guys will let me know if the need is there. :)_

_**Warning**: There is an actual cuss word in this chapter, but it really doesn't stand out and you might miss it all together if you aren't looking for it so… yeah. Oh, another highly anticipated moment is in this chapter too. Enjoy._

* * *

Prowl strode into the tactical command center and into a sea of barely controlled chaos. His engine revved in frustration at the loss of control and the franticness that permeated the room. It was easy to see that they were overwhelmed. But then that was doubtlessly part of Decepticons' plan. He made his way toward the central console, readying himself for the one-sided interface that Smokescreen would need to let him help with this situation.

His back hurt in several different places and he felt the ooze of energon from where multiple tertiary lines had been either punctured or sliced by the shrapnel that had hit him. But his repair systems were already working to reroute the flow and what he had told Elita was absolutely correct. He had a job to do. He was, however, thankful for the pain buffer Wheeljack had installed in his doorwings in that it allowed him to focus because he knew they had taken damage as well.

Pushing all of that aside, Prowl focused on the moment and looked for his former apprentice. Smokescreen was sitting, synched with the main terminal, his gaze unfocused, expression grim and his hands clinched on the edge of the terminal as he struggled to coordinate Iacon's defense.

_/Report?/_ He respectfully asked, not forgetting that Smokescreen was now his commander.

Smokescreen's helm popped up and their optics met. _/Oh, thank Primus!/_

Smokescreen waved him to the main terminal across from him while simultaneously databursting him a full status update.

Prowl's processor opened the file and incorporated the data in a matter of astroseconds as he crossed the room. Apparently the Decepticons had attacked in three rapid, successive waves of seekers. The first two waves had been rebuffed, thanks to the newly implemented perimeter defenses. But the third had managed to breach the defenses in the northern quadrant of the city. Vital segments of the command chain were now scattered and the perimeter teams had been decimated in the wave that broke their line.

Secondary response teams were already mobilizing, but their movements were not well coordinated because no one else on the tactical staff knew how to manage that many separate variables. Smokescreen was doing what he could, but the Decepticons had established both air and ground superiority and were systematically driving the Autobots out of the city, destroying as they went, and toward the base proper.

Prowl could see the panic in his former apprentice's gaze even if the younger mech did well to control any other outward expression of it. He could feel licks of a similar fear in his own spark, but pushed that aside as well, replacing it with determination: Iacon would _not_ be allowed to fall.

He sent a questioning signal to the white and gray Praxian even as he slid into one of the seats at the primary terminal, accessing the holographic well, even though he would not be using it.

The response he received was a desperate, relieved nod. _/We don't have time to set up a tandem or monitor. Just do what needs to be done, rank be damned. I'll back you up./_

He kept Smokescreen's gaze for a moment longer, then nodded. The situation was deteriorating quickly and there was no time to argue.

He plugged his cord into the terminal and synched with it, his battle and tactical computers spinning up to full combat operations.

Stretching his senses through the terminal he took in all the incoming data from the sensory grid established around the city and the base. It was basic sensory information, but it let him '_see'_ what was going on. And he recognized the attack pattern almost instantly.

He recognized it as a variant of one of the strategies _he _had developed while working under Megatron's command, specifically designed to assault Iacon. The terminal, as useful as it was attempting to be, was trying to cross reference the attack patternwith other known Decepticon activities in an attempt to find a weakness. Prowl ignored that analysis, knowing there would be nothing to cross-reference.

He was just about to re-task the computer when Smokescreen pinged him again. _/You're injured. You need a medic./_

Prowl barely spared him enough attention to reply. _/They are minor. It can wait./_

That split-second delay was enough for the terminal to finish its analysis. Prowl spared himself a nanosecond to look at it and felt his balance systems hitch as his tanks rebelled at what he saw.

It had found _one_ similarity: the attack that had destroyed Praxus.

Megatron had used a strategy _Prowl_ had developed while planning a potential attack on Iacon to destroy _Praxus_. His home.

No wonder Megatron had sent him out without wanting him to be in on the planning. It was not only because the warlord had wanted to kill him during the assault, Megatron had already had his plan of attack. His own work _had _contributed to the destruction of thousands of innocent lives. Blinding despair and utter self-loathing tore through Prowl, threatening to drive him mad and a keen started to build deep in his chassis.

But then a hot, inconsolable rage suddenly burned through his lines, mixing poignantly with the raw grief he had managed to subdue since the attack that leveled Praxus. His engine growled and he felt a sharp pain, almost a faint tearing sensation deep in his processor.

Only many decavorns of training and perfecting his ability to control himself allowed Prowl to channel that mounting fury into his function. His hands closed around the edge of the table, denting the metal beneath them.

Megatron would _not_ be allowed to win this time. He would save as many lives as possible.

His tactical computer was already spitting out what needed to be done as he threw himself even more fully into the task. Only a handful of astroseconds had elapsed since he had first synched with the computer.

Using the terminal, Prowl accessed the programmed senior command communication channels as they were blocked from his personal communications system. They were alive with the frantic attempts of different team leaders to gain a handle on what was happening.

Knowing the situation would only become uglier the longer this continued, Prowl accessed the transmissions.

_/Prime, this is Prowl. Permission to interject./_ His digital voice was calm and controlled, not giving so much as a hint to his internal angst even as his processor continued to analyze and project scenarios.

_/This is a defensive action. Smokescreen can handle it./_ Ultra Magnus' voice came back almost immediately, somewhat defensively.

_/Smokescreen has asked me to take primary tactical command of this battle for now. He is the reason we have not yet been overwhelmed, but the only way to keep this from ultimately becoming a catastrophe is to turn it into an offense./_ Prowl's voice was still almost clinically cool.

_/This is not the time for…/_ Ultra Magnus started but Smokescreen cut him off.

_/Prowl speaks the truth, Prime. Listen to him./_

There was momentary silence on the command channel except for the response team leaders still attempting to coordinate their maneuvers. They would either trust him to do his function or they would not. That did not mean that there would not be any fallout for pushing their hand, but Prowl would deal with that later.

_/Sir…/_ Ultra Magnus began, sounding wary.

But the Prime did not give his official second in command a chance to finish. His deep voice filling the audios of all his commanders with calm conviction and even acceptance if not a hint of gratitude. _/Proceed, Prowl. /_

Rapid fire, Prowl sent the orders necessary to begin a coordinated, counterattack including priority targets and position assignments.

The immediate response was another astrosecond of silence. Then the Prime spoke again. _/You have your orders. Cary them out./_

A subdued and wary chorus of acknowledgements came from the senior commanders.

Prowl felt a wave of relief that the first hurdle was behind him but brushed that aside as he turned his attention to the other aspects of the task that lay before him. While in most situations, tacticians only worked through the senior commanders – as he and Smokescreen had done to retake those two Autobot outposts – in a complex situation like this, it was permitted and even expected that a tactician would interact directly with the troops if necessary.

Prowl was not sure if that was a barrier he could overcome.

As if sensing his thoughts, Optimus's deep baritone rang through the general comm. frequency. Every single Autobot with a working communication system. would hear his words.

Optimus spoke calmly but with every bit of the impressive authority he was capable of. _/Optimus Prime to all Autobots. When you receive orders from Tactical Command, follow them as specified. That is a direct order./_

Then, on his private comm.: _/Prowl…/_

_/I heard, sir… Thank you./_ Prowl responded with relative quickness, cutting the Prime off, even as he sent out another set of orders.

He did appreciate what the Prime had done, but he needed his leader to focus on the battle, not on either reassuring or warning him. Perhaps aware of that, Optimus did not press the issue. Nor did he reprimand him for the breech of etiquette.

As Prowl proceeded to direct the battle, he felt Smokescreen on the periphery of his connection to the terminal. It was not a tandem process, but it was a mode of functioning they had used many times in Praxus. Prowl willingly handed secondary tasks to him; damage control, removal of the wounded from the battle field, anticipating where the next attack would be, preliminary analysis of the Decepticons' weaknesses and the readying of defenses in areas where the Decepticons were moving towards but had not yet reached. All things diversionary strategists trained for – things he knew Smokescreen excelled at.

Processors freed of the non-combat functions, he was able to focus even better, issuing multiple orders simultaneously across the city. One such order was to Steelbrow to circle further west of his intended target in order to make use of better cover and another was to Arcee who was leading a small femme strike force to bring them against the same group of Decepticons Steelbrow's team was approaching, evening the odds in that match. He likewise instructed Moonracer and another sniper, Longshot, to make priority targets of the mechs in their sectors he identified as potential gestalt members.

While the Autobots in question might have been surprised at the voice they were hearing over the comm., while they might have had their doubts, they nevertheless followed the order of their Prime and did as they were told.

Prowl had no way of knowing that his calm firmness and the well-concealed, intense determination in his voice helped them follow his commands.

Then, as the desperate retreat from the city towards the base proper gradually became an even draw and then a determined push-back against the Decepticons, that hesitant willingness turned into slowly bourgeoning confidence.

While some mechs would initially hesitate for an astrosecond or two, his instructions began to be followed immediately. Prowl's Circuit Su master had once taken a moment to mentor him when he had taken command of the Praxian Enforcer's tactical division. He had said that nothing bred confidence in a leader like success and it appeared that his master's words were proving true yet again.

But the Decepticons had come with overwhelming numbers and the Autobots found themselves facing at least one to five odds in every quadrant of the city. Victory would not come easily. Prowl was busily analyzing the Decepticon fighting styles, looking for weaknesses while still issuing combat orders when another mind synched with the terminal. Trailbreaker.

Prowl glanced up at the other tactician in the physical world, only half seeing him because of how stretched his mental capacities were – even if it was improving as order was restored to the Autobot ranks.

Trailbreaker was looking at him with grim seriousness yet also with a touch of hesitant expectation.

The other tactician might not trust him as a mech, but he was clearly willing to assist him in this function. Remembering Trailbreaker's unique abilities when it came to detecting enemy weaknesses, Prowl nodded, handing over that task as a parallel review with Smokescreen's. It was not a critical assignment, but it gave him something to do and would serve as a useful training method for review after the battle to help hone the young tactician's skills.

Trailbreaker blinked but then, with a nod, his own gaze unfocused as he bent his processor to the assignment.

Half a joor passed with admirable progress and then the Decepticons got reinforcements along the northern perimeter; the one the seekers had initially overwhelmed. With a silent snarl, Prowl instantly redirected combat forces to that quadrant, snapping orders through the comm. lines to Ironhide, Hardstrike and two other team commanders.

Outside the central command building explosions rocked the ground and lit the sky with violent fire

Then the sensor grid in that area suddenly went dark, leaving him blind.

_/Sensor grid in quadrant gamma five charlie is off line. We are blind in that area./_ Prowl notified the senior commanders over their dedicated comm. channel.

Ironhide, surprisingly, responded instantly. _/Prowl… don't make me regret this./_

Then, without him having to ask, the weapon specialist's sensory data uplink codes streamed to him.

Prowl sent a quick digital acknowledgement that did not express his true surprise and began incorporating the new data source. One set of sensors was better than nothing, but it still left vast gaps in his knowledge of what was going on in that sector.

_/Here…/_ Hardstrike's voice suddenly added and another set of uplink codes followed.

Surprise at having two commanders offering their uplinks in this manner threatened to stun Prowl, nevertheless he acknowledged the new uplink and likewise incorporated the data.

He noticed a team of Decepticons attempting to sneak around one of the defense teams in one of the western quadrants and sent a warning to that team as well as to Longshot, who was covering that area and another team that was nearby. He did this even as he noted that with Hardstrike's sensors most but not all of the blind spots in the northern quadrants had been taken care of.

To the south, most of the Decepticons had been dealt with and he redirected as many of those forces as he could to the beleaguered northern quadrants.

Then another voice came across the comm. line, this one hesitant but fiercly determined. It was Elita One. _/Transmitting./_

Prowl almost blinked in complete shock as yet a third set of sensory uplink codes streamed to him. Only well honed discipline kept him focused on his job.

_/Acknowledged./ _ He sent a brief digital signal that both indicated he was aware of the trust she was demonstrating and a reassurance she would not regret doing so.

Then, accessing the Femme Commander's sensory feed, the blind spots were gone. And just in time.

On the edge of Elita's rather impressive sensory range, it was clear that the seekers were returning for another run at them. Distantly, Prowl realized Elita must have seen them on her scanners and had known that linking the feeds directly to him would be the most effective way to ensure he had what he needed to organize a defense.

He doubted she trusted him yet and knew Elita must have taken this step because she had judged the benefit to the effort of defending Iacon more important than her own privacy. He felt his respect for the femme jump upward, even as he pushed aside all private speculation to focus on what needed to be done.

_/Another wave of seekers, bearing five two point three eight by two one zero./ _He quickly evaluated their formation as well as the lightning fast analysis Trailbreaker and Smokescreen provided. Their approach was from an altitude that would demand a rapid descent to complete their firing run. Excellent.

Prowl's engine revved. Elita's forewarning gave them a wonderful opportunity to take advantage of the seeker's only real weakness when it came to air-to-ground combat.

Prowl accessed the command channel again. _/Focus on the three lead trines. Fire only on my command!/_

While half of his processor continued to direct the rest of the battle, the other half focused on the arriving seekers, knowing he needed to time the Autobot's counter attack precisely and that he would have only an astrosecond or two to do so effectively.

Half a breem later, the seeker squadrons started their descent, dropping like lead blocks in a pool of liquid water.

_/Prowl…/_ Ironhide rumbled unhappily on the command channel, threat edging into the tenor of his transmission.

_/Not yet./_ Prowl replied, respectfully, but with sharp steel in his digital voice none of the Autobots had heard before. _/Wait./_

The seconds ticked away as the seekers fell closer to the city.

_/They are coming too fast!/ _ Crankshaft protested.

_/Prowl knows what he's doing./_ Smokescreen cut in. _/Trust him. Just be ready to fire the instant he tells you to./_

Relieved to know that his former apprentice would keep the others in line, Prowl tuned them out, waiting for the first indication that the seekers were changing velocity, knowing it would be close. He was too focused to realize he was using more concentration than he should have had to.

Then it happened.

Barely had his processors recognized that fact than he snapped out. _/Fire!/_

The order was followed with alacrity even as he directed reinforcements to a pair of Autobots who had managed to get cut off from the rest of their team but had not yet called for reinforcements for themselves.

Caught in the briefest of moments when a Seeker was almost blinded before their sensors fully adjusted to the sudden change in velocity, all nine of the seekers in the leading trines were struck with no chance of successful evasive maneuvers. The three leading trines fell from the sky with shrieks of rage and pain. Caught by surprise, the other trines scattered and, while only to other trines were shot down, the others beat a hasty retreat.

That was the main turning point in the defense of Iacon. Without dependable air superiority, the ground soldiers became easier to pick off.

Prowl was completely unaware that Smokescreen and Trailbreaker were staring at him through the holographic display and that several other junior tacticians had left their posts to watch, likewise in stunned silence.

Rather, Prowl's processors were still spinning as he continued to direct the battle, repositioning the troops and continuing to take the battle to the Decepticon invaders.

There was no more resistance to following his orders.

Even so it took another joor of hard combat before the _Decepticon_ commanders realized they were outclassed and doomed to fail. Meanwhile, the Autobots fought even harder, buoyed by the unprecedented victory against the seekers.

Then, like a switch was thrown, the Autobots went from having to force the Decepticons back, fighting for every square meter regained to the Decepticons turning tail, transforming into their alt modes and fleeing from the field of battle.

As quickly as it had begun, it was over.

Iacon was still standing. The damage, while considerable was not totally devastating.

Deleting the uplink codes, Prowl began the laborious process of separating himself from the tactical computer, realizing only then how much his frame was straining, braced against the edge of the table. Smokescreen could handle damage control.

As he slowly pulled his processors back from the terminal, working diligently not to let the process fragment his mind, he became aware that the ringing silence in his audios had transformed into the ringing of cheers and celebration.

Finally free of the terminal, Prowl onlined his optics as he unplugged his cord to find that everyone in the tactical office was standing around the primary terminal shouting and pumping their fists in the air. Across from him Smokescreen was likewise disconnecting, as was Trailbreaker. The light brown mech soon joined his fellows in celebrating their victory, but not without a lingering look at Prowl.

It was obvious most had been watching, at least during the last moments of the battle, rather than attending to their own duties. Not that there was much they could have done to contribute by that point.

Likewise glancing at the ecstatic mechs surrounding them, Smokescreen grinned at his former mentor. "You did it, Prowl."

Prowl only grunted noncommittally, feeling inexplicably drained and realizing that his processor was sorer than it should be. Something must have shown outwardly because Smokescreen leapt from his chair. "Prowl?"

Prowl twitched his doorwings to tell Smokescreen to give him a moment to regroup his mental faculties, concerned it was taking so long. But the other Praxian touched his shoulder… only to jerk his hand away. "Slag. You need a medic!"

Prowl focused on the younger tactician. "Smokescreen… it can wait. There are many other injured…"

Smokescreen worriedly shook his helm, cutting Prowl off. "It looks like you have at least one piece of shrapnel imbedded in an energon line. Its amazing you haven't just slipped into stasis, you've lost so much."

Startled, Prowl glanced down and saw there was indeed quite a pool of energon underneath his stool. No wonder he felt so weak. It also explained why it had taken more concentration than it should have, especially near the end of the battle. It had been a good thing the battle had ended when it had.

"Go to med bay before we have to carry you there." Smokescreen took his arm and pulled him to his pedes, urging him toward the door.

"Smokescreen…" Prowl started to protest.

Smokescreen shook his helm again. "That's an order, Prowl."

Prowl hesitated, arching an optic ridge. But his department commander was dead serious. He dipped his chin, not liking the way the world threatened to spin around him at the movement.

He knew Smokescreen was correct as well as recognizing the legitimacy of the order itself. "As you wish."

Prowl took a step with the leg that had taken damage from the explosion on the roof and staggered into the terminal. He caught himself and pushed himself back upright, embarrassed by such weakness. How had he forgotten he was so injured? That was right, he had ignored it in order to focus on his function, pushing it to the back of his processor. It was taking longer to come back to himself than it should have. But the extreme energon loss could be the cause of that.

"Tailgate!" Smokescreen snapped, looking around for a mech who was not actively doing anything important. "Go with Prowl and make sure he gets to med bay in one piece."

The dark gray mech looked at Prowl and nodded quickly, stepping close but not quite touching him, almost as if afraid to. Prowl briefly wondered if he looked that close to stasis or if this was still a holdover of his being a former Decepticon. The idea that it could have in anyway been related to intimidation because of the level of skill he had just displayed never entered his processor.

He managed to walk by bracing against the pain shooting through his injured leg. Tailgate followed closely, but did not aim to initiate conversation.

By the time they got to the med bay most of the other injured mechs were already there. It was very crowded. Crowded enough that his arrival was not enough to distract most of the others present from their own misery, even though the medics were clearing them out as quickly as possible. For that, Prowl was thankful.

While activity in the med bay was hurried it was not frantic. There was precision and orderliness even through the rush and seemingly outward appearance of chaos. It spoke to how well the med bay was managed as well as the skill of the individual medics working there.

_Of course_, a treacherous corner of Prowl's processor taunted him in his exhausted state, _they have had a lot of experience with mass casualty situations within the last decavorn, thanks to me_.

Tailgate helped him settle into an available chair and then scurried off to find a medic. Before he could find one however, Ratchet saw him and headed his way. The CMO ran a quick scan over him.

"Any pain?" Ratchet asked sharply.

Prowl gave a bare shake of his helm. "Negligible at the moment. I am weak."

"You have lost a lot of energon. You aren't exactly critical yet, but still… I can't believe you managed to do what you just did in that state." Ratchet gave him a thoughtful glare. "Slagger. I'll get someone to you as soon as possible, but it may take a while, as you can see."

Prowl nodded, well aware there were far more gravely injured individuals, who needed a medic's skill. "Understood."

As unpleasant as it might be to have to wait, there was comfort knowing his injuries were not deemed critical enough to put him higher on the triage list.

Tailgate, who had returned on seeing that Ratchet had found him, apologetically excused himself to return to the tactical command. Prowl nodded in mute understanding, knowing there was much work to be done in the aftermath of that assault.

He started rerouting power to conserve what energon remained in his systems, including his chronometer. Eventually, the med bay began to clear. Even so it was another half joor before one of the junior medics walked up to him. It was neither Ratchet nor First Aid. This one was a blue, black and silver mech, smaller than either of the other two medics Prowl had interacted with before. What caught Prowl's attention was that his approach was with obvious caution, perhaps even trepidation.

"Ratchet asked me to take a look at you." He said warily.

Prowl nodded weakly. "Understood. What do you want me to do?"

The medic said nothing for a moment and a detailed scan brushed over his frame, followed by a higher-powered scan used to detect internal damage.

"Most of those lacerations have sealed on their own. Only a few pieces of shrapnel are imbedded, but there is one in a mid-sized energon line." The medic's tone took on a slightly defensive if not faintly challenging air. "We are over loaded right now, so I'm only going to do what I absolutely have to. Everything else will have to heal on its own or you can come back later."

The overflowing med bay was evidence to the truth in that statement. "Of course."

The medic blinked as if he had expected more of an argument. "Do you need a pain chip?"

Prowl shook his helm. "No. Save it for someone in greater need."

With that the young medic looked downright startled. But he recovered quickly and got to work right there – probably because there were no unoccupied berths to move him to.

Air hissed through Prowl's systems as the shards of metal were pulled out of his armor, but he said and did nothing as skilled fingers spliced the damage lines and lightly welded the armor back together.

As the work progressed and Prowl continued to submit to the process without comment or complaint, the medic cleared his vents. "Ratchet said you are going to teach us to defend ourselves."

Prowl's optics sharpened – though the action took longer than he would have liked – on the medic who's designation he had yet to learn. "Yes. You are interested?"

"I'm tired of being a helpless _target_." The tone was blatantly accusatory but the steady movements of his hands did not falter as he spliced lines and sealed leaks in Prowl's frame.

Prowl's doorwings twitched just before they were immobilized so that the medic could patch the lacerations in them. He spoke softly as those repairs started. "I will do all in my ability to help you meet that goal."

The medic hesitated, perhaps in surprise, then quickly resumed his work. He was finished in half a breem and Prowl could not help the relieved vent of air that escaped his vents when his doorwings were remobilized. This medic either did not know how, or did not particularly care, to be gentle with doorwings. Regardless, Prowl knew the medic had gotten the job done and he decided that was what mattered most.

He looked up as the medic circled back around to face him. "First Aid said you wouldn't be a cruel teacher."

Prowl blinked. "Cruelty is never conducive to learning. It is illogical for me to use such an approach, not to mention ethically unacceptable."

The visible, if not complete, relaxation of the blue mech's armor was telling. "That's good to hear. Here." He held up a large cube of medical grade energon.

After draining the cube and handing it back, Prowl stood. He felt the liquid energy rush through his lines, returning some of the strength his systems had lost. Oddly, the twinge in his processor did _not_ fade. But it was not unmanageable and the medical staff were clearly overwhelmed. He would return later if it did not go away.

He nodded formally to the still unknown medic. "Thank you…?'

The medic blinked. "Jolt. And thank _you._ I understand you saved us."

The softening in Jolt's voice was evidence that his earlier coolness had been born of either distrust or because Jolt was intentionally feeling him out.

Prowl shook his helm. "I merely made it possible for others to utilize their skills in the most efficient way possible."

Jolt actually gave him a tiny smile. "Well… thank you anyway."

Without giving Prowl a chance to reply, Jolt moved on to the next patient.

Seeing he was dismissed, Prowl headed back to the tactical command center. Just like Tailgate, there would be a lot of work to do in order to evaluate the attack and find a way to keep it from happening again in the future.

Prowl did not know that after left the med bay, Jolt had paused, looking at the door he had just passed through before looking down at his own hands.

Prowl had let him work on his doorwings.

Unlike First Aid, Jolt _had_ worked on doorwings before, at his last post before being transferred to Iacon. But only a few times and only on mechs who were so damaged that they had been off-lined for repairs. He knew his technique lacked the refinement that Ratchet boasted – and had wanted to correct that lack for a while now – but none of the Praxians in Iacon let anyone but Ratchet work on their doorwings, not by choice any way.

But Prowl had not protested. Perhaps he did not think he had a choice. Even so, the former Decepticon had not complained about the discomfort he knew he had inadvertently caused. Nor had he taken offense when Jolt had pushed him a little harder than necessary about his past actions. Pit, he had probably asked his first question about what Jolt had wanted him to do expecting to be restrained for his repairs, like First Aid had done on a couple of occasions.

All of that even though Prowl was arguably the hero of the orn.

Perhaps First Aid had been right after all. Perhaps, Jolt conceded as he turned back to his patient, his own assumptions about the former Decepticon were wrong.

… … …

Prowl had just entered the lift when his private communication system activated.

It was Smokescreen, but his tone was hard to read. _/Prowl… are you finished in the med bay?/_

Alarm shot through Prowl. _/Yes. I am on my way back to the tactical…/_

_/Belay that./_ Smokescreen cut him off. _/The Prime has just requested our presence in the primary command center./_

Prowl's vents stalled at the serious tone in his former apprentice's digital voice. Quickly steeling himself, Prowl regained his composure however, grimacing at the pain that lingered in the back of his processor. _/Understood./_

Prowl arrived in the command center – still half expecting security to intercept him for being unescorted in such a sensitive area– to find Smokescreen was already there. They were ushered to the conference room just off the command center itself to find that Ironhide, Jazz and Elita One were also waiting for them. This combination did not bode well for him historically and he fought to tamp down an instinctive wave of anxiety.

But he had known there would be some sort of fall out from having broken protocol in not using a monitor for his activities.

He straightened and walked forward, just behind Smokescreen, wondering if perhaps – despite everything that had been said – a processor scan might still be on the table. He could definitely see how what he had just done might be considered too good to be true. He did not really want to think about what their reaction would be when they learned that the attack on Iacon, following the same pattern as the attack on Praxus, was one he himself had developed. Though it was a distinct possibility they already knew and that _that_ was why he was here. But he would not know for sure until one of them spoke.

Of course, he knew he would admit that fact in his report, even without the threat of a scan hanging over him, even if they would never find out otherwise. He had promised full disclosure and even though his ethical programs would hold him to that promise, he would have done so without it.

Even so, the reminder, or rather the guilt generated by the reminder, sent another brief stab of tearing pain through his processor.

Very well. He also knew he would submit to what ever was about to be required of him… and was surprised to realize that he actually did trust the Prime enough to accept that if Optimus demanded another scan it would be for a good reason.

He was further shocked to find that, regardless of what the mech might have done before, he would actually trust Jazz to do no more than absolutely required; just like the silver saboteur had promised. Where had _that_ come from? Prowl had no immediate answer and that disturbed him.

Such trust was a foreign thing to Prowl's recent experience and the strength with which the revelations slammed into his processor made that tearing pain just a touch sharper.

He struggled to shake off the sensation as he came to a stop, aware Jazz, Ironhide, Optimus Prime, Elita One and Smokescreen were all staring at him.

He straightened to attention. "Reporting as ordered, Prime."

"Relax Prowl." The Prime's calm words settled over him with gentle authority. "How badly injured were you?"

"Relatively minor." Prowl assured, not wanting whatever this meeting was being delayed because of his physical status. He was not sure if is fraying neural wiring could handle the stress. "The most significant were pieces of shrapnel imbedded in an energon line. They have been removed and the lines repaired."

Ironhide's optic ridge cocked. "How did _you_ receive a shrapnel wound?"

Looking at Ironhide carefully, it was easy to see where his own frame had suffered in the recent battle. The same went for all of them except Smokescreen, even the Prime.

Prowl was careful to not even look at Elita, knowing how embarrassing it might be for the leading femme if others found out about her loss of control. "I was outside the building when the attack began."

"_Outside_ the building?" Ironhide asked dubiously.

Smokescreen spoke quickly, clearly reading Prowl's reluctance to give excessive detail. "It was official business."

Elita cleared her vents with a tiny grimace. "I appreciate your discretion, mechs, but Prowl was outside because we were speaking… on the roof."

Prowl blinked that Elita would be so forthright, stunned that she would trust others – those not her sparkmate – with that much detail.

Optimus was also puzzled by this, though for different reasons, and cocked an optic ridge himself. "On the roof?"

Elita cocked her helm, looking up at him with a delicate shrug. "You asked me to trust him. I needed to find out if I could."

Optimus's optics suddenly grew a touch cautious as he glanced at Prowl. "And… did you?"

Elita's expression morphed into a somewhat sad smile. "I did begin to see what you do. Besides, he saved Iacon."

That served to bring all their attention back to Prowl, who tensed under the almost tangible weight of it.

Optimus likewise looked at the black and white tactician. "Yes. That _was_ impressive."

Prowl nodded stiffly. "I merely performed my function, Prime."

"While seeping energon like a sieve." Smokescreen murmured, though more for the other's sake than his own and Elita winced fractionally at the reminder.

Prowl was not comforted by the carefully neutral expression that settled on the Prime's faceplate, especially when it did not exactly match the almost mischievous light in his optics. "It is a shame you had to break four separate operational regulations to do so, is it not?"

Prowl's doorwings flared fractionally before he caught them and he missed the disapproving look Elita shot her sparkmate.

At least Prowl knew what was coming and now sought to ready himself for it. "Sir."

"Of course." The Prime continued, his gaze suddenly more intense. "If you were assigned the rank of lieutenant commander, it would not be an issue because no regulations would have been broken."

That…wait. What?

Prowl could only stare, that tearing pain suddenly stabbing through his processors like an energon dagger as his expectations clashed with what he had heard, as the unexpected, illogical reasoning clashed with the implications of what the Prime might mean.

"Sir…?" Prowl's voice sounded strangled to his own audios.

He barely registered Jazz's smirk, Smokescreen's smile or the way Ironhide and Elita One shared a look. His focus narrowed onto the Prime as the rest of the world seemed to shift, no longer as steady under his pedes as it should have been.

Optimus continued speaking, though now with a faint smile, completely unaware of what was happening inside Prowl.

"Autobot Prowl, I hereby confer upon you the provisional rank of Lieutenant Commander in the Autobot forces and all the duties and privileges commiserate with that rank and responsibility."

Prowl felt his balance systems shift again, as if his gyroscopic sensors were caught in the event horizon of a gravitational singularity. _Lieutenant Commander?_ That could not be right. That rank, even if only provisional, would make him the second highest ranking individual in the tactical department, leaving only Smokescreen as higher ranking. There were a whole _host_ of reasons why that was a bad, _bad_ idea. He had not even finished his probationary period yet. It was just plain dangerous if not _stupid_ for the Prime to make such a move, regardless of how much he could be trusted. Protocols existed for a reason, slaggit.

No, he must have heard wrong.

Prowl replayed the Prime's words, running them through his processor again just to double check, and his systems hitched audibly as the replay confirmed his initial understanding.

Smiling openly now, Optimus nodded silent confirmation.

Then he spoke again, his tone and expression more serious. "Of course, this rank is probationary, as is the position this will elevate you to within the tactical department. However, upon successful completion of your probationary period of one vorn, it will be made permanent and then you will…"

The rest of the Prime's words sort of ran together, blending into a mess of slurred syllables and jumbled noises, as Prowl's processor refused to interpret them. He felt his motor relays freeze one by one and though the process felt almost drawn out, a part of him knew it was happening very quickly. His joint's locked up as pain lanced through his processor with a savagery he had not experienced even at the hands of his Decepticon captors.

"That… is not…" Prowl began haltingly, or at least he thought he did.

But then he was actually falling, unable to prevent it, his processors locking on the illogical decision, the hope and dismay that warred within him as something deep within his processor tore apart, finally unable to handle the pressure that had been building since the battle had started.

Only Prowl did not hit the ground. Instead, strong arms caught him, holding him gently, pulling him close to a warmly thrumming chassis.

He could hear what was happening around him but could not respond or even make it compute.

A deep, rough voice that part of his spinning processor identified as Ironhide's sounded from somewhere to his left. "Hmm. Perhaps he was more seriously wounded than anyone first thought."

"Ratchet don't usually miss somethin' _that_ important." A suave voice that could only be Jazz's

"That's assuming Ratchet was the one who looked at him." An openly anxious voice that probably belonged to Smokescreen.

Prowl vaguely remembered his apprentice _had_ been in the room as well, but that was all he could manage as everything faded, pulling further away even though he tried to cling to it, tried to drag himself upward from the abyss reaching up to grab his mind.

"Let's get him back to the med bay." Calm, dignified base tones that could only belong to the Prime rumbled through his mental flailing from directly over him.

That meant the Prime had been the one who had caught him and thus it was the Prime who was now holding him.

That should have been humiliating, but it barely penetrated the deepening fog his now hazily drifting processor before complete blackness overcame him and Prowl was swallowed up by the darkness.

* * *

_*Pokes head up from behind couch.* Everyone was waiting for Prowler to crash the first time, right? Well… um… Here you go. _

_*Slips out from behind couch and makes a mad dash for __**Kurohane Ookami's**__ bunker* (Thanks for the offer, by the way :D)_

_*Peeks out.* Not bad seeing Prowl back in action though, right? *ducks back in and slams the door.*_


	34. Failsafe

_My thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! There were so many that I didn't get a chance to respond to everyone. That is just so awesome. :) You guys haven't let go of your chairs yet, have you? Just a question._

_And now, for your reading pleasure…_

* * *

Prowl's frame hummed to life instantly, though his processors online slowly as he strained to recall what had happened. He did not have the courage to online his optics just yet. He felt disconnected, strangely separated as if his processors were operating in parallel rather than in sync with each other. It made him queasy and lit a stab of fear through his spark.

_~Easy. Your processors are still delicately balanced right now.~ _Ratchet's words did not so much reach his audios as they reverberated inside his mind and Prowl belatedly realized the medic was synched with him.

_~What…?~_ Prowl struggled to focus, to bring both sides of his mind together enough to comprehend what was happening.

_~You crashed, Prowl~ _The medic's tone was professional, but not cold. There was more, however, something in the medic's mental touch. It was difficult to quantify and it was not something Prowl remembered feeling from the testy CMO before and it worried him even more.

But he could not work up the concentration to form words and so sent a questioning pulse through the hardline connecting him to the medic. Obligingly, Ratchet explained.

_~It was a critical conflict between your emotional and logic centers.~ _The medic's mental tone was that of… compassion? That fact worried Prowl though he could not immediately identify _why_ it should. _~I have not done a complete diagnostic workup because I wanted your permission first.~_

That only caused more confusion to lance through Prowl, since when had Ratchet needed his permission to do a medical scan? The conflict resulted in a stab of pain into his processors that made him wince. _~My permission?~_

_~You are not a prisoner any more, Prowl.~_ The pain was expertly soothed away by the mind inside his. _~I had to connect to your processor to bring you out of the crash, but I won't do anything more without your permission.~_

A storm of conflicting thoughts and emotions suddenly tore through Prowl, almost simultaneously. Shame at his weakness, fear of what the medic might find, instinctive panic over such an invasive procedure, primal terror of what the medic could do to him - let alone at such a breech of self - despair at the possible long term prognosis and raw, raging fury at his own helplessness and disgust at his weakness.

He knew Ratchet got the full force of his uncontrolled and scalding emotional onslaught, but could do nothing about it – he did not have the strength. The CMO, for his part, took the wild storm in stride, soothing the fierce tide, helping Prowl regain control and helping to clear the muddled mess that was his fragmented processor.

_~Easy now. Your systems are still fragile.~_ There was an almost worried pause._ ~Will you trust me to do what I need to diagnose the problem?~_

Instant panic tore through Prowl again, almost sending him spiraling back toward oblivion, but Ratchet's strong mental presence stopped the descent, pulling him back from the brink of another crash.

_~I give you __**my**__ word that you won't have to face this alone.~_ Another pause. _~I won't leave you until we fix what happened, until you are back on your pedes.~_

A part of Prowl wanted to desperately latch onto that promise as his mind still threatened to scatter beyond his ability to hold it together, but the stronger part wanted to recoil.

He hardly knew Ratchet and had only just started to trust him. But to allow the medic to learn what he instinctively knew was his greatest weakness… It would make him too vulnerable. How could he let someone he did not really know learn something that he could take advantage of? Better if a good and trusted friend…

But that was not an option, he realized with yet another wave of despair. He had no trusted friends…

Fear and terror welled again… then abruptly cut off, restrained by the remarkably gentle hand of the Autobot CMO.

_~From what I can tell, whatever happened overloaded the interface in your command cortex and now it is as if the two systems – your logic centers and emotional centers – aren't communicating simultaneously. You are flipping from one to the other.~ _Ratchet's gentle touch continued to sooth the wildly spinning emotions.

Prowl took in those words, calming incrementally, finding he was able to focus better. It made sense.

Instantly, the fire of such raw, unchecked emotions diminished as his logic systems took over, banishing them completely.

Once he was able to think clearly – though that disconcerting sense of internal division remained – Prowl became aware of other things. He was in the med bay in Iacon, laying prone on a berth. Ratchet was sitting on a stool next to him, connected to his primary data port.

Then he realized he was restrained to the berth by a stasis cuff to each extremity and a magnetic field.

Almost instantly he deduced why and un-shuttered his optics to look at Ratchet. "What did I do?"

What looked like a touch of relief flickered across Ratchet's optics.

Then, aware of the shift in his mood and his thought process thanks to the interface cable connecting them, Ratchet answered, though still gently, as if not wanting to upset him. "When you first started to come online, your emotional center was in control… you became combative."

Prowl processed that silently for a moment, knowing logically how dangerous that could have been for the mechs in his immediate vicinity. "I see. Was anyone injured?"

Ratchet grimaced faintly and he felt the medic's reluctance in answering through the one-sided connection. "First Aid was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but no permanent damage was done. Both Optimus and Jazz also suffered superficial damage. Nothing serious."

Clinically, Prowl considered the fact that he had assaulted three Autobots, including the Prime himself. At the moment he felt nothing, even though distantly he was aware that he _should_ have.

That did not mean he was unaware of what appropriate behavior was, nor that he had done the inexcusable.

He blinked up at Ratchet, unable to modify his body language to convey his understanding because he was completely immobile. "My apologies for behaving so badly. I will make appropriate reparations once I am able and…"

"Not necessary, Prowl." Ratchet cut him off, putting a hand on the tactician's shoulder in an uncharacteristically comforting gesture. "You were not in your right processor… you don't even remember doing any of it, do you?"

"No. There is a segment of approximately one joor that I have no recollection of." Prowl paused, wondering momentarily why that did not bother him more than it did, vaguely remembering Ratchet had said something about his emotional center and his logic systems not communicating simultaneously. Interesting.

He refocused on the medic. "The time logs for that period are so corrupted as to be completely nonexistent. Therefore, I will not contest your accusation. If you say I committed such assaults, I will trust you."

Ratchet pounced on that statement. "Will you also trust me to do a diagnostic of your systems to find out exactly what happened and what we can do to prevent it from happening again?"

Prowl considered the question and realized the proposal made sense: it was illogical to remain in ignorance. "Yes."

The Praxian could feel the almost palpable relief that flooded from the CMO's side of the hardline connection, then a faint renewing of the wariness. "Some of this may be uncomfortable. Will you give me your word to trust me and not fight me?"

Prowl considered this request as well, watching the openly earnest expression of the medic leaning over him. Agreeing would bind him through his ethical programming. Surely the CMO knew that as well, meaning that Ratchet _wanted_ him to be bound by that coding. That meant that the possibility was actually high that the diagnostic process _would_ be uncomfortable. Thus, it was only logical for Ratchet to take precautions, especially if he had already hurt three mechs.

"Yes." Prowl spoke softly. "You have my word I will not fight you."

Ratchet blinked, then his frame relaxed. "Thank you. I will be as gentle as I can."

The CMO wasted no time, following the same pathways he had followed every time he had examined that instability in his command cortex. Prowl watched passively as Ratchet examined every line of coding meticulously. Eventually, he came to the actual junction where his logic and emotional centers interfaced with his command cortex.

Where once the connection had been, if weak, smooth and seamless, it was almost completely severed. It was as if something had exploded within the coding, as broken and fragmented neural pathways were scattered within the cortex. The anomaly that altering his ethical programming had caused, Prowl identified the reason in an instant of absolute, clinical clarity.

Abruptly his perspective shifted and the lines of broken code suddenly looked as if it was his very essence ripped in half. The giant chasm of fresh terror reached for him, waiting to swallow his very being.

Ratchet reacted instantly, blunting the rising tide of horror, trapping Prowl's mind in a solid mental grip.

"Prowl." Ratchet was actually leaning over him, both hands placed on his upper chassis, staring down into Prowl's suddenly wild optics. "Prowl… I am here. I won't let you get lost."

Air was heaving through Prowl's vents as his gaze snagged on the medic's as if clinging to a life-line. Unable to focus enough to speak, his mind screamed its panic.

"I know." Ratchet soothed gently. "I know. I see what the problem is, where it is. I… I need to work on patching the damage now."

Patching the damage? A whole segment of his command cortex was obliterated! There was no patch that…

"Prowl." Ratchet's tone was a touch more stern now. "Yes, the damage is significant, but it is not a complete loss. You said you would trust me to do this."

Trust? Ratchet had once helped Jazz fragment his mind, how could he trust? No, he had to prevent…

Prowl's ethical programming kicked in, jarring his processor to a halt so fast it was disconcerting. He felt Ratchet's faint relief even as the self-inflicted restraints of his own coding wrapped around his mind and stilled his attempts to defend himself.

It was absolutely the most helpless Prowl had ever felt and his panic morphed swiftly into a week keen of frustration and powerless grief.

Instead of condemnation from the medic synched with his processor as he expected, Prowl felt compassion and understanding. "I know my track-record isn't that great in your optics. But I'm not going to hurt you. It won't be easy, but I want to try and create a patch to reconnect your emotional and logic centers. It won't be very strong, especially at first, so I'll have to establish a failsafe so that if the pressure builds to within a certain parameter it can kick in and perhaps send you into a temporary stasis you can bring yourself out of rather than a critical crash."

Prowl could not truly focus on what the medic was saying as what was left of his mind curled around itself pitifully.

Ratchet waited a moment and then took his silence as acquiescence. "I'll need to do a shut down to write and install the new codes, I will help defragment the rest of your processor while I have you under."

Prowl shuttered his optics, knowing only that he had never felt so utterly defenseless, so absolutely helpless and at another's mercy; so terribly vulnerable.

And the Autobots did not trust him; he was a former Decepticon. What reason did Ratchet have to bring him back online once he was done? Especially now, when it was his own strategy that had been used to destroy Praxus? That thought sent a fresh stab of pain and a wave a self-loathing and shame through his processor and he felt his mind attempt to fly apart again. Once more, it was Ratchet who prevented the crash. Unable to do anything else, Prowl leaned against the CMO's steadying mental presence.

He did not even fight the blackness of stasis as Ratchet put him under.

… … …

Prowl's systems started to reboot, going through the usual routine without hitch, every system reporting functional status. The first thing he noticed was that the strange, nauseating duality that had defined his last period of conscious memory was gone. He felt drained even though his chronometer alerted him he had been in deep medical stasis for nearly two orns.

His sensors onlined fast and reported that he was in the med bay and that he was flat on his back on a berth. Those sensors also told him that he was not alone. Then, as the data from the sensors was further processed he realized he was restrained to the berth, both by stasis restraints and a magnetic field.

Instinctively he tensed against those restraints only to have his memory of what had happened register in his CPU. He remembered the utter loss of control with Ratchet still in his head, the damage the CMO had discovered as well as what the medic had told him concerning the missing data from his time logs. He had assaulted the Prime as well as Jazz and First Aid when he had been out of his processor.

No wonder he was restrained.

Shame swelled in his spark at having lost control, at the damage to his command cortex that had reduced him to, to…_this_.

He relaxed against the stasis fields and the magnetic lock holding him in place. He could only imagine what his behavior had done to his standing among the Autobots, his credibility in their optics. He had not even finished his probationary period and he had assaulted the Prime, messed up processor or not, that was _not_ a good thing to have on one's record.

Not to mention Elita's promise to avenge any injury her sparkmate might sustain because of him.

He released a vent of air, only then to become aware that a monitor over his berth was beeping.

The other mech in the med bay, whom he now identified as Ratchet, made his way to Prowl's berth.

Prowl knew Ratchet was standing over him, he knew that Ratchet knew he was online and that continuing to lay there with his optic powered off fooled no one. But he did not want to see the CMO's expression.

"Welcome back to the land of the online." Ratchet said anyway.

Prowl struggled to tamp down the shame that welled in him, knowing Ratchet had seen him, had been intimately involved in helping bring him back from his complete... He stopped that line of thought and forced his optics to online.

"Ratchet." He acknowledged softly, not able to meet the medic's gaze.

If he had, he would have seen Ratchet's expression was one of concern, not judgment. "Now that you are back online, I need to do a final check of the patch I installed for stability."

Without comment, still looking at the featureless ceiling tiles above him, Prowl obediently slid aside the armor covering his primary neural interface port.

Hesitating just a moment, Ratchet connected. To Prowl's surprise, his primary firewalls did not react to Ratchet's presence. Further investigation showed his firewalls no longer existed.

Clearly catching his shock, Ratchet explained quickly. "I had to hack your firewalls when you crashed. It was the only way I could bring you out of it, your mind was locked down tight."

"I see. It is a precaution." Prowl intoned dully. "In case I was ever rendered offline while in the Decepticon ranks. I reinforced those protocols once I defected."

"Ah." He knew Ratchet was watching him and shuttered his optics, surprisingly, the medic did not move in on his mind, regardless of the lack of firewalls. Instead a hand gently touched his shoulder. "It was not as easy as you are thinking. Jazz had to help and as a _professional_ medic I have some overrides that work universally, no matter the upgraded firewalls. It took everything we both had."

Instead of helping as was no doubt intended, that only made it worse. Jazz had seen him like this too, had been in his mind for some of it… had torn apart his firewalls. But then, Jazz and Ratchet were not the only ones who had seen his complete and utter breakdown. Apparently the Prime had as well.

"May I?" Ratchet asked after a moment.

Surprised at the question, Prowl sent a quick, consenting blip across the hardline connection and then waited.

With quick efficiency, and yet still making an effort to sooth the discomfort the scan caused, Ratchet examined the affected codes. Prowl followed the scan and diligently marked the changes as accepted, not wanting his malware programs – if they were still functioning – to undo what the medic had worked hard on.

The tactician remembered the gaping hole that had been left where his logic and emotional centers connected to his command cortex. They were reconnected now; the coding like a bare scaffolding compared the extensive nature of native programming. And where the original connection had been smooth, if weak, this was rougher. Prowl knew enough about code writing to know that this patch was not intended as a final, absolute fix. It was designed as a framework that his own regenerative coding could use to rebuild the connection. That there was already evidence of such rebuilding in place was a good sign. Idly, Prowl wondered how long it would take.

"Several vorns at least, possibly a decavorn or more." Ratchet answered the unspoken question. "With the command cortex, it is hard to say. But you have made excellent progress in the two orns you've been in medical stasis since I have installed it."

A decavorn. Or more. Prowl released another vent, rebuking himself for focusing on the negative. At least it would improve. But he already had enough problems with emotions; he did _not_ need this.

Ratchet continued, as if unaware of Prowl's internal bickering with himself. "I will need to carefully monitor your progress until it is far enough along that there is no danger of regression. I have installed a failsafe that will trigger a temporary stasis and reset of the affected systems, should your emotion and logic systems become too stressed. Perhaps, if these connections are rebuilt sufficiently, I can remove that failsafe. Until then…" Ratchet grimaced.

"Until then, I will need to even more carefully manage emotional stimuli." Prowl supplied quietly, defeated.

"Yes." Ratchet looked at him carefully, evaluating him. "I know you will be rebuilding your firewalls. You may of course alter them again to prevent me from having standard medical access. I won't stop you. Just know that in case this happens again, it will be easier to handle if I don't have to hack you."

Prowl considered those words, not wanting to admit they surprised him as much as the reluctant understanding in the CMO's tone did.

He examined the fragmented coding of his demolished firewalls mulishly as he thought about what Ratchet had said. Now that he inspected the damage done to his defenses, it was clear that they had been almost messily torn apart – something that was very unlike either Jazz or Ratchet. It indicated that the mechs in question had been desperate, panicked even.

The only thing they might have been panicked over was his wellbeing. That was… unexpected. Most likely he was wrong about that assumption, even if he could think of no other logical alternative at the moment.

But that did not address the issue immediately in front of him.

Did prowl trust Ratchet enough to give the medic access to his mind like that? The memory of his last scan flashed through his processor, followed by the memory of the medic protecting Jazz as the saboteur had systematically fragmented his mind after that false accusation. Above him Ratchet winced minutely and, for some reason, that triggered the memory of how Ratchet had then helped him defragment his processor afterward.

Was the risk of having another critical crash truly great enough?

Did he want to have to rebuild his firewalls again if it was necessary for the medic to get access again in the future _should_ it happen? He would never have done that for a Decepticon medic.

But… Ratchet was _not_ a Decepticon.

But did he trust _any_ medic enough now?

A soft clearing of the other's vents forcibly reminded Prowl that Ratchet was still in his processor and had just been privy to his internal debate.

He winced internally, instinctively trying to raise mental defenses that no longer existed, only to cringe as doing so sent a brief stab of pain through his processor.

But the pain was eased aside by the CMO and that gentle action made Prowl feel like engine sludge for having inadvertently insulted him. He tried to frame an apology.

"No." Ratchet shook his helm, his mental tone almost… patient? Sympathetic? Pained? "I knew you had – _have_ – a distrust of medics, but I never truly understood the depth of it." Ratchet paused momentarily. "Honestly, I am amazed you have let me go as far as I did for this."

Prowl averted his gaze, looking back up, past the medic at the ceiling again. No, that was not entirely true. That fragging ethical program was to blame. He had _not_ had a choice; he had given his word.

"You have a choice now."

The simple, softly spoken words startled Prowl into freezing mentally, glancing up at the chartreuse CMO. He realized then that, even though Ratchet was still in his mind, there was no judgment, no manipulation of his will. None of the things that had made him learn to be so defensive, especially around the likes of Soundwave.

He also remembered the touch of the CMO's mind holding his together after his crash; the promise not to leave him until he was fixed. A promise that, judging by the exhaustion that clung to the other mech's armor like lichen, Ratchet had kept.

A part of his mind distantly wondered if Ratchet had recharged at all in the two orns he had been in stasis.

Those memories clinched Prowl's decision. "I will ensure you have access." He remembered First Aid's kindness and hesitated, then plunged forward. "You and First Aid. But no more."

Shock flowed back from Ratchet's end of the hardline connection, then stunned acknowledgement and tentative appreciation for the offer of trust such an action represented.

Moments later, the medic had disconnected and immediately after that the magnetic field holding him down released. It took a few more seconds before the stasis cuffs were likewise deactivated and removed.

Ratchet helped him to sit up and Prowl noted then that an energon line had been connected to his systems at some point. Prowl looked at the drip, then at where the needle was inserted under the armor of his thigh plating before forcing himself to look briefly at Ratchet before letting his gaze drop again.

There were several questions racing foremost in his processor, but he was careful not to give any indications to his troubled thoughts. He decided to ask the one that was haunting him the most. Was he a prisoner again? Was he considered dangerous now?

"What is my status?" Prowl asked softly, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"You are released to light duty."

Prowl's optics shot up to Ratchet in surprise. _Duty_?

Ratchet nodded and then deftly removed the energon drip. "Optimus wanted to see you as soon as you were able. Come. I will take you to his office."

Prowl nodded mutely and slid off the berth, rising to his pedes. He took a moment to loosen the cables in his back and arms before falling obediently into step with the CMO. Of course, the Prime would be the one to decide his fate. He was only released from a medical standpoint, not a legal one.

The reception he received from the mechs they passed in the corridors was mixed. Only very few were openly wary. Most were only curious and perhaps concerned but a fair number were almost pleasant, smiling at him and nodding his direction. It felt… surreal.

They reached the command level and soon Prowl was being ushered into a comfortable office that was large enough to host a small conference table – incidentally this one was also circular in shape – to one side. Just past the table, a window overlooked the command center itself.

The Prime greeted him warmly and then waved him to a seat at that table. It was not the typical beginning to a reaming out. But Prowl was too concerned to take comfort in that.

Still feeling a touch disconnected from reality, Prowl sat only to blink in surprise as Ratchet lowered himself into a chair beside him.

Optimus considered him closely for a while, likewise lowering himself to a chair at the table, but Prowl was unable to force himself to lift his gaze higher than the larger mech's bright blue chassis.

Finally the Prime spoke. "Ratchet has briefed me on what happened. How are you doing?"

Prowl hesitated before responding. There were so many possible ways that question could be answered, but the Prime's early warning to speak the truth, combined with his own promise to do so, limited those options. But then, the warmth and genuine concern he felt radiating from the mech made him feel distinctly unworthy.

He framed his reply carefully, the Prime's sincerity making it simply impossible to be anything but completely honest, even if it made him vulnerable.

"Physically I am doing as well as can be expected. However…" Prowl's voice caught in a static cough and despite his best intentions, the tactician found he could not continue.

All Prowl could hear was Megatron's derisive bellow, _You are so __**weak**__!_

Prowl felt guilty even thinking that in relation to the Prime, but he could not help it. He looked down.

As if knowing what he was thinking, the Prime spoke again, his bass tones rolling over Prowl soothingly. "The reasons for what happened are already known to me, as well as a few others on the senior command team."

That only deepened Prowl's humiliation and his doorwings tucked reflexively.

Optimus paused, evaluating his reaction then changed his approach, leaning forward slightly to regain Prowl's focus. "Tell me, Prowl, did you know something like this could happen when you made changes to your ethical program?"

Prowl nodded, still not meeting his leader's gaze. "I knew there were risks."

"And do you now regret doing what you did?" The question was gentle, but unyielding, requiring an answer.

Prowl hesitated, mulling that over, determined to be honest even if it was condemnatory. Once he carefully examined his spark on the matter he shook his helm, lifting his gaze to the Prime's. "I regret not being more careful. But that is all."

A flick of mild surprise registered in those intense optics, then Prowl received a respectful nod. "Few of us would consider ensuring impeccable ethics to be worth such a sacrifice. Such moral strength is to be respected."

Prowl stared, his processor throbbing faintly. "It is no strength, sir. But a potentially devastating weakness."

Optimus waved a hand dismissively. "Perhaps. But none of us operates within a vacuum, but as part of a greater whole, next to others who can come along side and cover for such weaknesses." The Prime paused, looking at Prowl carefully. "Your condition does not disqualify you from the place you are earning in our ranks."

Prowl could only stare, replaying those words to make sure he had heard correctly. "It… does not?"

A kind smile softened the Prime's faceplate. "No. Indeed, the character required to do what you did and then not regret having done it in the face of such a negative consequence is valuable indeed. I would be foolish to throw such an individual aside for such an ultimately inconsequential issue."

The fierce gleam in the Prime's optics bore the sincerity of those words deep into Prowl's spark and he felt a nearly tangible weight lift off his shoulders. He straightened visibly and, when he spoke, could not prevent his relief from showing in his voice. "Thank you, Prime."

Optimus smiled fully then. "Of course, Prowl."

Then he grew deadly serious, standing formally. "Now, on that note, our previous discussion was interrupted."

Concern raced through Prowl, even though he stood automatically when the Prime did.

Optimus held his hand out to Ratchet, who had also risen to his pedes. Ratchet's optics narrowed dangerously. "So help me, _Prime_, you do something to make him crash again and I'll…"

Ratchet cut himself off with a huff and obligingly handed Optimus whatever it was he had been requesting. _It_ happened to be a small etching stylus.

Optimus turned back to Prowl. "Now, commensurate with your excellent performance, outstanding moral character and dedication to Autobot principles – as well as the other attributes already on file – as Prime, I hereby confer upon you the provisional rank of lieutenant Commander, a _senior_ tactician in the Autobot army."

The Prime lifted the hand with the etching stylus but, remembering something, Prowl reached up to stop him.

"Wait, Prime." He looked up into now puzzled blue optics. "Before you do that, you should know… the strategy the Decepticons used… it was one I developed before I left Megatron's service." He felt a pang of grief hit his spark and an answering twinge in his processors. "And… it was the same one he used against Praxus."

The Prime's optics became soft, warming with compassion. "I know."

"Sir?" Prowl's doorwings winced fractionally.

Ratchet was the one to answer, doing so with remarkable gentleness. "When I traced back the critical error that led to your crash, I found its trigger. It started when you realized that. Somehow you kept it together through the battle, but it was probably the stress of doing so that ultimately led to the crash."

Prowl felt the world swim around him and he looked back up at the Prime. "And you still want me?"

Optimus nodded firmly. "Without question."

They held gazes for a long moment and a deep swell of appreciation filled Prowl. He lowered his restraining hand and straightened to attention. He still felt unworthy, he still felt that this rank was premature, but he would strive to live up to this unprecedented offer of trust. He knew that, should his concerns about the promotion prove valid, he would accept a demotion without question or affront.

Faint smile reappearing, Optimus lowered the stylus to the metal armor along his chassis, just below where his neck joined his frame. With precise, sharp and firm movements, Optimus etched the glyphs attesting to the stated rank. It was a permanent mark, but not so deep it could not be removed or changed if necessary.

Still in mild shock, Prowl nonetheless found himself standing even straighter. Then, belatedly, he began to process exactly what this rank, provisional or otherwise, would mean and felt his processor stall. Second in command of the tactical division. Under Smokescreen.

Optimus smirked slightly, looking smug.

Ratchet glared at his leader and then looked at Prowl. His engine growled. "Oh no you don't!" A chartreuse hand reached out and soundly whacked the Praxian's shoulder. "Don't you dare even _think_ about crashing again so soon!"

Startled, Prowl flinched away. He looked to see Ratchet was glaring at him. "Sir."

Optimus started to say something else only to straighten, turning to the door, a cautious smile settling into his optics. "Come in."

A moment later Elita walked in, Bluestreak held securely in her arms.

Prowl felt his spark lurch seeing Bluestreak curled miserably against the Femme Commander's rose-pink chassis. It was obvious he was distressed and he barely seemed to notice the world around him.

Prowl's focus was so singled on the youngling that he momentarily forgot about the CMO and the Prime. Worry about his young charge lanced through him, but he did not show it outwardly, he only scanned Bluestreak carefully, looking for any physical damage. He was unaware that _he_ was the focus of the other adults in the room.

Because he was watching the blue and gray sparkling so closely, he saw those tiny doorwings twitch as they involuntarily took in the spark signatures of those in the room.

Then they twitched again, stronger this time.

The small helm popped up from where it had been pressed against Elita One's armor and snapped around to look at Prowl.

Adult and youngling stared at each other for a long moment, each one anxiously examining the other. Then Bluestreak squealed, launching himself out of Elita's arms and zipping across the Prime's office to Prowl. He collided against Prowl's leg with such force that the older Praxian had to take a small step back.

"Prowl! You're awake, you're online!" Then the youngling grew still and released his tight hold on Prowl's plating, backing up a step. His voice held more tremble in it when he finally continued. "It was so scary looking at you in the med bay being so still and… and… it reminded me of… of Praxus."

Prowl's vent's hitched painfully and he knelt to Bluestreak's level, continuing to ignore the others. "Bluestreak…"

Attempts at an explanation failed and he settled for dipping his helm to touch the base of his chevron to Bluestreak's apologetically "I am sorry to have worried you so. But I assure you, Ratchet took good care of me."

Despite being on the receiving end of his pit-spawned emotional breakdown, Prowl admitted to himself. He was willing to believe that his delicate trust in the medic might be worthwhile.

Instead of looking relieved, however, Bluestreak pulled back further, becoming even more worried as he examined Prowl. "They said… they said it was something wrong in your processor. That it might affect your memories and… your emotions. That you might not care for me the same when you woke up…"

Prowl's vents stalled completely and he finally glanced back up at Ratchet, a silent question clear in his optics.

Ratchet answered that question, speaking quietly. "It was a distinct possibility."

Prowl's processor quickly replayed the scattered memory files of what happened and, with slowly dawning horror, he realized that – or worse – was exactly what _would_ have happened had he opted not to let the medic diagnose the problem… if he had not agreed to let the medic do what was necessary to fix it.

Blinking back to the moment, Prowl returned his gaze to Bluestreak. "Whatever might have been a possibility, the truth remains that my affection for you is as it has always been."

He did not see Elita or the Prime's puzzled looks, their glance at Ratchet for an explanation nor the medic's faint shake of his helm. All Prowl saw was the relief that flooded Bluestreak's frame, the way he lit up just a moment before his faceplate contorted into frustrated, hurt anger as if he had just remembered all the worry and fear he had suffered the last two orns.

A tiny fist suddenly connected with his chassis, taking a streak of paint with it. "You said you wouldn't get hurt on the base again! I thought you were going to die or be different. You scared me so much, I couldn't recharge. I didn't want to refuel either. Bumblebee was so worried about me he,… You promised!"

Prowl was completely unaware that the three adults tensed at Bluestreak's assault, anxious as to what his reaction would be. The tactician frowned in disapproval of the behavior, though he struggled to process _exactly_ what lay behind it, unwilling to reprimand if there was another explanation.

"I did." Prowl said carefully after a moment. "But this injury was not done by another. Do you remember… we spoke about why I must be careful with emotions."

Bluestreak still looked at him accusingly, though he nodded. Then his expression shifted as he pieced together what Prowl was saying. "You mean… you mean this happened to you because you, um, your emotions… I mean avoiding something like this is why you have to be careful?"

Prowl nodded. "Yes, more so now than before, I am afraid."

"Oh." Bluestreak drew the word out as his gaze unfocused and then he adopted a truly chagrined posture and crept a few steps closer to Prowl and gently rubbed his hand over the streak his strike had left. "I'm sorry Prowl. I was just so upset, and I didn't know what else to do, I wasn't thinking. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to behave wrongly."

"I know that, Bluestreak." Prowl spoke softly. "You will gain better control as you mature."

Bluestreak's optics widened. "You aren't mad at me?"

"I have no reason to be, Bluestreak." Prowl shook his helm. "I understand the torment this must have caused. I am sorry."

Bluestreak smiled again, relaxing completely just a moment before throwing his arms around Prowl's neck.

Caught of guard, Prowl awkwardly returned the embrace and felt the youngling magnetized to his frame. Bluestreak did not move, clinging to him as he had back in the ruins of Praxus. As the moment stretched, however, Prowl realized the sparkling had slipped into recharge, still magnetized to his frame.

Prowl blinked, startled. It had been some time since Bluestreak had done that. But he knew the youngling well enough to deduce that the poor thing probably had not recharged well since the attack and that was two orns ago.

Of course Bluestreak would be exhausted.

With a tiny, almost non-existent smile, Prowl wrapped an arm around Bluestreak and stood. As he did so, he suddenly remembered the _new_ member of his audience.

Elita One.

With sudden trepidation he glanced up at the Femme Commander, only to see that she was standing in a relaxed posture, simply watching their reunion with kind optics. He glanced at the Prime to see that he too was smiling gently, almost relieved.

It was then that it hit him; they had not known till that moment what his reaction to Bluestreak might be, whether there were any lingering problems from his crash that would affect his ability to safely and effectively care for the youngling. Judging by their reactions, they had been relieved rather than troubled. Prowl decided that was a good sign.

"I will have that expansion for him within the orn, Prowl." Ratchet assured him quickly, a tiny smirk threatening his stern normally expression. "The radical emotional swings are another sign he is in need of an upgrade. He should gain better emotional control once it is installed."

Prowl nodded, looking at the CMO. "I do not want him to have the same issues with emotional expression that I do."

"He shouldn't." Ratchet reassured, gaze shifting to the youngling in question. "You have done a remarkable job helping him to deal with the trauma he has suffered."

"Indeed." Optimus spoke then. "I know Ratchet has cleared you to return to light duty, but for the rest of this orn I believe you have a different duty to fulfill. Report back to tactical _next_ orn."

Prowl nodded formally. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

He started to leave, but Elita put a hand briefly on his arm to stop him. "Prowl. Jazz suggested it is possible you have not activated your guardian protocols for Bluestreak."

Ratchet blinked and even Optimus Prime seemed caught off guard by that possibility, glancing at each other.

Prowl looked at Elita, but dipped his helm respectfully. "That is correct. While I was on parole it was not a wise choice just in case I was deemed unfit and my probation rescinded because it would have been necessary for me to relinquish custody of him."

Elita frowned. "But it has been at least a decaorn or more since you have become an Autobot. It would make caring for him easier."

"Perhaps." Prowl acknowledged. "But now it is a risk that is too high. You can imagine what would have happened had Ratchet not been able to restore my processors. I will not endanger him like that. The general protective programs every enforcer has will be sufficient."

"Such a bond might help stabilize your command cortex." Elita mentioned softly, confirming that she was one of the individuals who probably had been briefed on his condition.

Prowl chose not to let that fact bother him, even as he met her somewhat challenging gaze with an understated challenge of his own. "Or it could pose a great risk to Bluestreak's own stability."

"But…"

Optimus chose that moment to cut his sparkmate off. "A wise decision."

It felt more like praise, approval even, not necessarily a warning to keep it that way.

Elita considered her sparkmate for a moment and then the armor over her frame shifted a fraction as she looked back at Prowl. She seemed to set herself and then nodded formally to him. "I wanted to thank you, Prowl."

Prowl blinked, feeling a touch disconcerted. "For what?"

"You shielded me on the roof… and that even after I… um." She trailed off, looking aside, clearly embarrassed by that episode. Prowl was amazed she had even brought it up.

"What did you do?" Optimus asked, blinking in concerned curiosity, glancing briefly at Prowl.

Elita hesitated and then silently stepped forward. She reached up and around Bluestreak to lightly brush a fingertip over the gouge her energon blade had made in his armor. Prowl stiffened at her touch, but did not say anything as both Ratchet and the Prime leaned in to examine the faint scar from the now healed wound.

Optimus stepped back, looking at Prowl calculatingly. "You never said anything, Prowl."

Unspoken was a request for an explanation.

Prowl shifted uneasily, not liking this turn in the conversation. "There was no need. As the Prime's sparkmate her safety in that setting was paramount, regardless of anything else." A way to change the topic came to his processor and he leapt at it, dipping his helm apologetically, not acknowledging the odd expressions on the others' faceplates. "However, I am reminded that I owe _you_ an apology, Prime."

The Prime's look turned inquisitive and Prowl hastened to explain before his leader could jump to wrong conclusions. "Ratchet informed me that while I was… not myself… I acted in a grossly unbecoming manner which resulted in injury to yourself and others."

Optimus actually smiled at that, though he nodded acceptance of the apology while politely denying the need for one. "I appreciate that Prowl, but Ratchet has explained the circumstances and, for my part, I do not hold you responsible."

Relief hit Prowl almost as strongly as Bluestreak had earlier and he released a vent he had forgotten to cycle. "Thank you, Prime."

* * *

_Yes, I know this chapter is short, but I have been advised unanimously by my… beta committee (read my family and friends) that it would be better to stop this chapter here in order to give my dear readers a little bit of a breather before the events in the next chapter, simply because this one is so… draining? Intense? Demanding? You tell me. I decided to accede to their wisdom. _

_Second note: As you can see, I have taken Prowl's little 'glitch' as more of a medical emergency than some have. I know how much damage happens to a hard drive when it crashes, I cannot see something like that happening to a sentient computer (so to speak) without serious damage resulting. Because of the seriousness of the issue, do not expect him to crash very often, though he may come close. Even with the failsafe, it will take a lot to push Prowler to the point of another crash simply because he will do everything in his power to __**keep**__ from doing it… as will most of the mechs who know about it (discounting Sunny and Sides perhaps…but they don't know about it. Yet. And I am open to ideas as to __**how**__ the Twins might just find out.). I know that is not the way many authors have dealt with this issue, and I guess it comes from being a medical professional, but I just can't see friends __**wanting**__ someone they respect and care about to flirt with such a dangerous condition._

_In case anyone is wondering, my inspiration for Ratchet's repair of the damaged command cortex interfaces is that of what we in the wound care industry call a "skin substitute." Basically these things are applied over a chronic open wound and provide collagen, fibroblasts, and essential molecular component to help the body build new skin in the area. In short, the structure of the skin substitute acts like a molecular and cellular scaffold that the patient's own body then uses to build new skin across. Anyway, it's really cool (and insanely expensive)._

_Also, never fret, the next chapter will help fill in the details about what happened while Prowl was out of it and we will (finally) be getting back to another Jazz/Prowl centric interaction, and it will be pivotal in their relationship. *Snicker* _

_*Wipes brow and steps out of bunker.* Hey, I didn't really leave you with a cliff hanger this time! So, no throwing foodstuff at me. Please. *Shields laptop with body and hurries back to room.* Once more, thanks for the bunker. I… uh… I might be needing it again in the future… :D_


	35. Rendering Aid

_Yes, I know this chapter is late… you would not believe the slag that has happened the last two weeks, and I won't bore you with a blow-by-blow rendition. Short explanation is: real life plus a fragging virus on the computer and then, to top it off, my Internet access went spotty for several days. Anyway, it is here now and I offer this chapter as a peace offering… _

_Okay, so that might be a little over the top. However, because of the blankety-blank-blank __**stuff**__ that has been going on I have not had more than 10 minutes a day on the computer for the last two weeks, almost from the moment I posted the last chapter. For that reason I have to admit this chapter is not quite as strong as I'd personally like it to be, but it was post it now or wait for another...who knows how long. Constructive comments on content are welcome if any of you see something. _

_Anyway… Happy Independence Day everyone!_

* * *

Bluestreak's doorwing twitched and the brief movement drew Prowl's attention from the data pad he was using to write his official report on the attack. True, the Prime had given him the rest of the orn off to tend to Bluestreak's needs, but the sparkling had yet to online from when he had slipped into recharge while magnetized to Prowl's frame. Thankfully, however, just over a joor after falling into recharge, the mechling's systems had cycled down enough that he was unable to maintain his magnetic hold.

Prowl counted it as a good thing that that fact had not alarmed Bluestreak enough to bring him out of recharge: it meant he felt safe and secure, at least subconsciously.

And, just like the dozen or so other times Bluestreak had moved or flinched within the last six joors, it was not a herald of his systems coming back online.

Satisfied that his charge did not need him at the moment, Prowl turned his attention back to his report. It was only logical not to waste the joors that Bluestreak was in recharge when he had a report to complete. And, because he would obviously have the time this orn – not to mention he considered it a logical duty for his new _provisional_ rank and position – he was also arranging a training regimen to help the response teams learn how to better function should they find themselves without tactical support in the future.

Most of the response teams would prove relatively easy to train. There was only one, consisting of two specific mechs that could provide more of a problem. As a mech of order and precision, he hoped he would not have to factor that pair in as a wild-card – that they would let him train them. But only time would tell.

He saved one such proposal and was about to start on another only for the entry request to sound. Prowl looked up, signaling the door to open even as he belatedly scanned for a spark signature.

It was Jazz.

The silver saboteur ambled in, though he cast a surprised glance over his shoulder at the door as it closed behind him.

"Ya locked it." He observed, looking back at Prowl.

Prowl only smirked ever so faintly. "I reasoned that now that I have an official rank, as provisional as it may be, I was entitled to a little privacy."

Jazz blinked, the comment startling him. However, upon closer examination, he might have seen a tiny glint in the Praxian's optics. But he was not sure.

As if testing that Jazz gave the tactician his most charming smile. "Aw, where's the fun in that?"

Others might have flinched away or grimaced at such a statement, but Prowl simply clasped his hands together, resting them on his desk, not giving away any clue as to his inner thoughts. At least not through body language.

His words however, were a different story. "I am confident that for a mech of your skills and abilities, it will not be much of a barrier for long."

Jazz just stared at the black and white mech, not really sure how to take that. A compliment? An invitation? A statement of resigned submission to lingering suspicion? Or… perhaps something different entirely. A challenge?

"I'll take that as a compliment." Jazz found himself smiling again, though he registered himself as a touch nervous, considering his real reason for seeking Prowl out.

Prowl's stoic demeanor cracked just enough for his lip plate to quirk upward as he nodded.

The silence that settled between them then was uneasy as Jazz remembered his purpose there and as the memory of more recent events returned to the forefront of Prowl's CPU. Unspoken between them was the neon sign that was Jazz's demolition of Prowl's firewalls.

Jazz finally found the courage to break that tense silence, taking a tiny step closer to the Praxian. "So… ya scared me, crashin' like that. Scared all of us, actually."

Prowl's doorwings lowered fractionally. "It was not a pleasant experience for me either, I assure you."

Jazz moved closer and he could have sworn what looked like a touch of nervousness, to match his own, flashed behind those rich blue optics. He knew Decepticons well enough to take a good guess as to what was troubling Prowl the most. He knew Decepticon's disdained weakness, and he knew Prowl was not ignorant that the cause of his crash was an inescapable disadvantage, one that had left him with an undeniable weakness. Though the saboteur had no doubt that the Prime had addressed that matter, he had been in Prowl's head enough to know that Prowl would not assume the Prime's assessment and conclusion would automatically be universal among the Autobot ranks. But Jazz had his own concerns to worry about and decided, as difficult as it would be, it would be best to deal with his own worries and _then_ help Prowl deal with his.

He was now standing parallel to Prowl's desk, the metal surface no longer between them, Prowl's sitting position allowing Jazz to be taller, though not by much. Suddenly it was too much like when he had been interrogating Prowl and Jazz yanked the second chair over to slide into it.

He released a vent, looking at the table briefly before forcing his gaze back to the Praxian's. This was not going to get any easier the longer he procrastinated.

Taking in another system full of air he blurted the words out, or at least tried to. "Were ya aware… when, when I… "

"When you demolished my firewalls?" Prowl asked blandly and Jazz nodded miserably, muting the faint whining sound his engine wanted to make.

He was startled beyond belief when Prowl finally shook his helm. "No, though I must admit to a great deal of surprise when I discovered how completely shredded they were."

Jazz grimaced, looking away. "Yeah. Sorry about that." He was about to assure Prowl he would never do it again, but he knew that was an untruth. He knew he _would_ if it were needed again. In a sparkbeat.

His engine revved lightly and he brought his gaze back to Prowl's. "I only did what I had ta. I'd do it again if the situation called for it. Ya have a right ta know that."

And that was true, Prowl did have a right to know, especially within the scope of these unofficial negotiations they seemed to be involved in when it came to scouting the parameters of their still somewhat awkward relationship.

Prowl did not respond immediately and Jazz found he was loath to even release the vent he had drawn in. When the tactician finally spoke, his voice was soft and not at all angry.

"So I understand." There was a pause and then Prowl continued even softer, almost hesitant. "That is a trait I have always respected about you, Jazz."

Jazz's optics dilated with shock as he fully registered what Prowl had said. "Ya are still troubled by it, tho'." He observed equally soft.

Prowl grimaced and averted his gaze, though more out of discomfort than any type of submission. "Surprisingly, I am more troubled by the missing and corrupted data in my time logs than by the fact you are able to so thoroughly break my defenses. Especially since I have been told I harmed others during that time."

Jazz blinked, feeling off balance. "It… it doesn't bother ya that I…" Jazz looked away when Prowl lifted his gaze back to his and found he did not want to actually say the words.

"I know what you are capable of, Jazz." Prowl reminded him gently. "Based on what Ratchet told me, I find I am grateful you were able to do it."

Jazz stared at Prowl anew. It was the first time he had ever been _thanked_ for displaying a set of skills that, quite honestly, terrified most mechs. And by the one subjected to his talents no less.

Staring almost blankly up at Prowl's open – if still well controlled gaze – he saw a hint of vulnerability there. Jazz was not arrogant enough to believe that vulnerability was strictly because of him, rather it seemed to come from something within the other mech, but he could not immediately identify it.

Then it hit him and Jazz made an almost spontaneous decision. He would trust his instincts, even though roughly a fourth of them told him it would be a mistake; a risk he could not afford to take.

But he had already taken a personal vow to help Prowl, and this was something he was in a unique position to do right now. Jazz would not pretend that what he was about to do in any way made up for the harm he had done Prowl in fragmenting his processor, but it was at least a good down payment.

Before he could change his mind, Jazz leaned forward, closing the distance between them, and extended his left arm, sliding away the panel covering his wrist dataport.

"I know it ain't the same as your own, but I'll give ya my memories of tha time you're missin'." Jazz offered the open port to Prowl.

The tactician only stared, feeling a telltale ache twinge in his processor. "Jazz…?"

Jazz did not pull back the offered port, rather he held it fractionally higher before placing it on the desk between them.

The Saboteur waited for Prowl to look away from the port to meet his gaze again before he continued. "Primus knows I've taken enough memories from your mind. Least I can do is offer ya a few of mine."

"Jazz.." Prowl was sounding almost pained.

"I'm serious." Jazz insisted then, when Prowl continued to eye him with increasing unease, he pressed his point. "I'm not playin' with ya or anything. I _want_ ya to do this."

… … …

Prowl shook his helm, determinably not looking at the beckoning port. "There are other ways." He stated firmly.

Jazz quirked a lip plate at that; the tactician's resistance oddly making him even more determined. "This one'll do fine. Trust me."

Prowl froze, words of additional refusal choking into silence as Jazz's last comment struck home.

It was the first time Jazz had asked for _his_ trust at all, and it was for the saboteur's own detriment. Oh, he had no doubt that a mech of Jazz's skill set and caliber could prove devastatingly dangerous even in a one-way connection.

He looked up from the proffered dataport to see that Jazz's visor was retracted and that the blue optics staring back at him were earnest and almost pleading. He was struck by that gesture itself from such a private and enigmatic mech

Prowl did not understand why, but he could clearly see that Jazz _wanted_ him to do this. It would be a great insult to the minibot if he should refuse. Slowly, with a formal dip of his helm, Prowl reached for his own cord.

"As you wish." He whispered his acceptance of the truly generous – if unnecessary – offer.

The smaller mech did not flinch or show any resistance as Prowl plugged in his own cable. As he synched with Jazz's processor, the tactician was struck with the bizarre sense that, like the mech's desk had been, his mind was not _entirely_ chaotic, but not exactly neat and orderly either.

The firewalls that greeted him were truly massive and intricately complicated, making his own now demolished defenses look like youngling's play.

As soon as he made that observation however, the outer layer – an actual defensive layer the likes of which Prowl had never bothered to develop for his own processor– dissolved and Prowl could see that underneath that veneer, Jazz's firewalls were much more like he would have expected. Even so, he did not doubt that even without that additional layer of defense, Jazz could prove very dangerous to any mech attempting to hack him.

Then a small portion of the remaining firewall dissolved, revealing a lighted pathway that would presumably take him to the promised memory files.

Mindful of what the other mech was experiencing, even as his own tanks rebelled at the sensation of being in another's processor, Prowl followed the illuminated path. Even so, he could not quite forget what he had been subjected to at the saboteur's hands.

Prowl found the memory files and – as he had feared he might - he suddenly felt the urge to fragment them as he went, just as Jazz had done the last time their positions had been reversed. Then he internally cursed the way his mental control was still weakened from his crash; that such a thought would even arise. Without his own firewalls, he knew that Jazz must been aware of that sudden impulse because he saw the silver saboteur shift slightly.

Yet the infamous mech made no move, either physically or mentally, to try and prevent him from doing exactly that; he made no attempt to protect himself. The only thing Jazz did was grimace, clearly just waiting for it to happen.

Perhaps feeling Prowl's consternation at his reaction, Jazz's optics narrowed. "It'd be well deserved… I won't deny that."

"It would not be right." Prowl refused to meet Jazz's still visorless gaze, shamed at his fleeting temptation.

Not wanting such a temptation to return, Prowl steeled himself and resignedly accessed the memory file. As he did so, he realized that it was not just Jazz's memory, it was the linked emotional and personal files accompanying those memories. Jazz was offering him _everything_.

It was… it was… staggering.

His optics widened, to which Jazz only offered the tiniest smile.

Then Prowl was in Jazz's place, reliving those moments; the experience passing in that weird, twisted perspective that put him in the other mech's perspective while not entirely robbing him of his own as the outside observer.

_Prowl felt Jazz's worry and instant concern as he watched himself suddenly collapse. He saw the Prime catch his limp frame and ever so gently lift it closer to his chassis. That worry only grew as the Praxian never rebooted._

_He listened to the other mechs, including the one who's memory he was experiencing, briefly debate the matter until the Prime ended the conversation with a tone that Jazz recognized as genuine concern._

"_We must get him to Ratchet." The Prime's words catapulted all of them into action._

_Jazz followed his leader closely, scanners constantly running over Prowl's frame, looking for any hint as to what was going on, even though he knew his sensors were not anything compared to Ratchet's medical scanners._

_Prowl would never have expected the depth of concern he felt in the saboteur's memory as the actual trip to the med bay passed in an anxious blur._

_Then he watched as his frame was hastily laid in a recently vacated berth… Jazz's acute sensors detecting the drying energon still on its surface. But the smaller mech was so focused on Prowl that he had not consciously noticed the handful of injured mechs still in the med bay… now watching the sudden drama with various levels of attentiveness depending on their own conditions._

_He saw, through Jazz's optics, as Ratchet hurried to them, snatching up a data hub and using it to synch with him. In that moment Jazz suspected what he then knew Ratchet had immediately anticipated: a virus of some kind. He felt Jazz's immense frustration with himself that he had not suspected something like that earlier because if he had, he could have rendered more immediate first aid. _

_Then Ratchet cursed, snapping Jazz's attention back to the moment. "Whatever it is, his firewalls are still up. But he's not responding. This is taking too long. Jazz!"_

"_On it!" Jazz answered, moving forward immediately, knowing what the CMO was asking of him._

_The silver frame, who's sensations Prowl was sharing at the moment, reached for his cord and plugged it into the data hub with all apparent confidence and totally without hesitation. But, privy to the mech's emotions, Prowl clearly sensed the internal conflict Jazz had had at that moment. He felt the worry – actually bordering on fear now – as well as the concern as to how his next actions might damage his budding friendship with the tactician. Added to that was the tormenting fear that it might not do any good anyway and they would loose Prowl regardless._

_But then, with a gathering of focus that Prowl remembered well from his interrogation, Jazz brushed aside those thoughts and focused on the task at hand._

_Together he and Ratchet frantically tore through the firewall that was preventing Ratchet from bringing Prowl out of the crash and was possibly keeping him locked in desperate battle with some unknown virus without access to help. _

_He had no choice, Prowl would not survive this if he did not do what he needed to do. Jazz's conviction, tinged with worry, continued to pester the fringes of Prowl's awareness as he watched the remembered progress of his firewall's destruction._

_He was pleased with the almost clinical coolness he was able to maintain as he watched Ratchet first weaken an area in the firewall with his medic-only overrides and then move aside to let Jazz actually break the barrier apart. Through his connection with the saboteur, being in the silver mech's place, he knew that at one point Jazz had once looked forward to cracking such a challenging defense – when he had first been captured – but that that visceral pleasure was now harshly tempered with the knowledge of just __**who**__ he was doing it to and why._

_Together medic and saboteur were swift and sure in their coordinated movements, leading Prowl to believe this was not the first time they had worked together in such a manner._

"It wasn't." Jazz said softly, his regret – mixed with stubbornness – coloring his mental stance. "It was the first time we've had ta do it on one of our own, tho'."

Prowl indicated acknowledgement of that statement, realizing what he would likely have faced had he not cooperated with his former interrogator.

"I woulda done what I had ta; you were too valuable an information source not ta." Jazz confirmed again and Prowl realized he was looking away when silver claws gently touched his arm. "I'm glad I didn't hafta."

And, linked as they were, Prowl knew that to be absolutely true.

He released a shallow vent of air and signaled his generalized understanding and agreement, though he truly had no clue how one _aught_ to respond to such a comment. Hoping to forestall further awkward conversation, Prowl resumed the memory from where he had left off.

_Seeing the final bits of the firewall crumble was __**not**__ a moment of exhilarating victory as it usually was when Jazz did the same to Decepticons. That was because Prowl was one of them, an Autobot and perhaps… a friend. Someday?_

_Feeling almost sick, regardless of the fact he knew he had only done what needed to be done, Jazz backed out of Prowl's mind after the last threads of the firewall dissolved. He quickly disconnected, backing away physically to give the medics room to work._

"_First Aid!" Ratchet snapped, not looking up from where he was peering intensely at nothing physical._

_Ratchet's apprentice was there instantly, and quickly plugged in to the hub. Prowl felt Jazz's lip plates twitch, despite the heavy aura of anxiety that permeated his thoughts. Leave it to Ratchet to use even such a situation as this as a learning opportunity. Jazz would have been irritated by that except that he knew Prowl actually liked it when the younger medic got valuable experience, even at his expense. _

_That alone kept Jazz from protesting. _

_He shot a glance at his Prime only to see Optimus and Ironhide exchange worried looks, standing close enough together that their nearness would serve as unspoken, understated moral support. Smokescreen stood apart from them, optics never wavering from the frighteningly still form of his former mentor. Jazz did not want to think about how devastated the white and gray Praxian would be if Prowl did not survive this. Not to mention Bluestreak…_

_With a shake of his helm, Jazz focused back on the moment. Like the others, he was well aware of just how grave the situation truly was by one thing alone: Ratchet had yet to demand any of them leave the med bay._

"_Slag!" Ratchet's sudden exclamation snapped Jazz's attention back to him. "The interface between his emotional and logic centers is completely fried. I… I have no idea what he will do when he comes to." There was an uncomfortable, worried pause. "Bringing him online now."_

_An instant later an anguished keen split the air, the haunting, agonized sound tearing at Jazz's spark only an instant before First Aid was thrown away, his cord ripped from the hub. The apprentice medic hit the far wall and slid to the ground, one hand cradling his helm in a clear indication that the abrupt disconnection had fragmented him at least to some degree._

_But Jazz spared the younger medic only a brief glance to make sure he was otherwise alright, even as he was leaping forward to help restrain the now wildly thrashing Praxian._

_Prowl's movements were not coordinated, which was something Prowl noted with relief knowing just how much more dangerous __**that**__ would have made him, rather they were the frantic, desperate attempts of a mech totally and completely terrified and only half conscious._

_Ironhide quickly moved past Optimus, who had also moved to help hold Prowl down, and managed to get each ankle joint secured in a stasis cuff. _

_Once activated, though Prowl could still squirm his legs, they did not actually move. The sudden immobility of his lower extremities however only seemed to terrify him more and another anguished keen rattled through Jazz's armor. Never had he known such deep pain. He only hoped he had not helped to cause it._

_The renewed fear made Prowl fight even harder and he managed to land a punch to the Prime's chassis, peeling a long streak of cobalt paint free of the larger frame, denting the heavy armor. But that arm was swiftly reclaimed by the Prime and a stasis cuff quickly applied. _

_Then Jazz also received a blow when he momentarily lost control of Prowl's other arm. Through Jazz's memory, Prowl was reassured that while the cosmetic damage smarted, it was nothing serious. Within moments however, Prowl was completely restrained and, as the last cuff was slapped into place, a magnetic field activated as a secondary precaution._

_Jazz backed away again, dread growing in his tanks at what that complete a breakdown might mean for Prowl's sanity. He worried at the chances that Prowl would be able to recover from… whatever would do this to him._

_Prowl knew, without doubt, that Jazz's concern, ripping through him as if he were feeling it himself, was __**not**__ just about the possible loss of the asset Prowl represented, but concern about him personally._

Prowl suddenly felt guilty about the brief moment in which he had even entertained the desire to fragment these memory files and was actually relieved Jazz would feel that even across the one way connection. It was easier than trying to express such a thing verbally.

He still could not meet Jazz's optics. "First Aid?"

The junior medic's reactions had indicated either a fairly serious fragmentation or a first time experience.

Jazz shook his helm and Prowl knew the honesty of his words through the hardline connecting them. "Not seriously damaged."

Without prompting, another memory file was highlighted for Prowl.

Being as gentle as he could this time, Prowl hesitantly access this new file.

_The time log indicated that half an orn had passed since his crash when Jazz ambled back into the med bay. His first stop was to check on Prowl, but the tactician remained still as death on the berth, his processor hooked up to two different monitors by a plethora of tubes and wires, Ratchet bent over the whole set up with a look of serious concentration. _

_The junior medics were finishing up with the remaining wounded, giving their CMO space. _

_Deciding to take his cue from the rest of the medical staff and not disturb the chartreuse medic, he decided to search out the other mech he had wanted to see. _

_He found First Aid in another part of the med bay. He was carefully sorting through tools, cleaning them and replacing them in the proper compartments. He approached the white and orange medic carefully, watching him closely._

"_How ya doin' First Aid?" He asked softly but nonetheless the medic startled._

_He looked sideways at Jazz. "Processor ache." He said and looked away hastily. "I'll be fine."_

_Jazz nodded, easily seeing what was not said. "Hey, it happens ta everyone eventually."_

_First Aid grunted, still not looking at him. "I know, but… I __**trusted**__ him, Jazz."_

_Prowl felt his tanks lurch and was mildly surprised when Jazz stepped closer to First Aid, putting a clawed hand on a white arm, it was exactly what he had had an impulse to do himself. "It wasn't the Prowl we know. Ya know that. __**Prowl**__ would never do that to ya intentionally."_

"_I know, but…" First Aid finally turned to look at him directly and Prowl was struck by the deep concern he saw in his optics, mixed with a healthy dose of trepidation. "Jazz… I've never seen something like that. That much damage to a __**command**__ cortex… If Ratchet can't fix it, Prowl will be too damaged, too __**dangerous**__ to let go free."_

"_I know."_ _And Prowl caught the remembered concern that Jazz had experienced before the silver mech continued in a forcibly lighter tone, clapping First Aid on the shoulder. "It's a good thing ol' Ratchet is a miracle worker, then, isn't it."_

_Jazz's efforts were rewarded by a tiny, non-committal yet hesitantly hopeful expression from the apprentice medic._

"He never did go back in your head." Jazz spoke quietly, watching Prowl's reaction carefully. "Not even when Ratchet wanted him ta observe how he patched up your coding."

Prowl nodded silent understanding, mulling over all he had just experienced even as he withdrew his mind and then his cord from the saboteur. He did not want to risk Jazz wanting to show him anything else. He had enough to deal with at the moment.

"Thank you, Jazz… for sharing those." He made himself look at the smaller mech.

Jazz relaxed fractionally once Prowl was disconnected and flashed the tactician a tight smile. "Like I said; I've taken enough memories from ya that it's only fair."

Prowl considered the silver saboteur closely, processing the memories he had just been given yet again. Yes, Jazz _had_ accessed virtually every memory he had had within the last decavorn and the memory of that invasion still stung – physically as well as emotionally.

But then he recalled Jazz's remembered worry over his wellbeing, the true concern the mech had felt _for _him and his own painful memories lost the edge of their sting.

"That does not make my appreciation any less." He told the mech who had once been his interrogator.

Jazz gave him a tiny smile that was more at ease than he had been since walking into his quarters. They sat in a surprisingly comfortable silence – even if not _entirely_ comfortable – for nearly a breem, each lost in his own thoughts and, all the while, Bluestreak recharged on.

Then, coming to a decision, Prowl straightened and refocused on Jazz. "I need to speak to First Aid. I owe him an apology." He paused. "Will you watch over Bluestreak while I am gone?"

Jazz's optics widened as if he did not expect to receive such a request, though he looked at the youngling. "Of course."

Jazz watched almost dumbfounded as Prowl stood and walked to the recharging youngling only to bend over and place a hand between tiny doorwings. He stayed like that for a moment before straightening again. He looked at Jazz and nodded again before walking out of his quarters.

Jazz simply stared at the door as it closed, amazed that the mech would leave him alone in his quarters like that.

Then he smiled.

He could use the time to remove the monitoring devices he had placed there.

Well, most of them any way. It was not that he expected Prowl to do something untoward, but he did not put it past any naysayers or troublemaker to attempt accusing him of treason. That or any other Decepticon spies or saboteurs who may still be in, or may infiltrate, their ranks. Prowl would be a target of the Decepticons now, Jazz knew, and not necessarily in the form of a frontal attack.

Hard to have an alibi when one spent as much time as possible away from any witnesses to his behavior. No, he had promised himself he would watch the mech's back, that meant he would have to ensure Prowl had undeniable proof that he was not involved in suspicious behavior if the need every arose… just because the mech was so determinably antisocial.

Surely, if Prowl ever found out about it he would understand.

Maybe.

… … …

Prowl approached the med bay with some hesitation. The look on First Aid's faceplate in Jazz's memory haunted him. It had taken a long time to gain First Aid's trust and it was possible he had lost it in a matter of astroseconds he could not even remember on his own.

Then, with a determined stiffening of his spinal struts, he walked in to Ratchet's domain.

All of the walking-damaged had been seen to some time ago and only those occupying the ICU were still there. It was, mercifully, quiet.

First Aid saw him, looking up from where he was cleaning tools… the same tools he had been cleaning in Jazz's memory and it suggested he was still more unsettled than he had admitted to the saboteur. That was not good.

As if made uncomfortable by his attention, First Aid started to turn away then looked down. His hand clenched on the tool he was holding and he straightened, then he turned back to Prowl and walked toward him.

The young medic came to a halt further away than was strictly necessary. "Prowl, can I help you? Ratchet is taking a joor to recharge." '_Finally' _went unsaid, and his tone was carefully formal.

Prowl kept his posture non-threatening. "I… only wish for a moment of your time, First Aid. Please."

First Aid narrowed his optics uncomfortably, looking remarkably like a terrified turbofox ready to bolt, but eventually he nodded nonetheless.

Assuming that was as much welcome and encouragement as he would get, Prowl dipped his doorwings a fraction of a centimeter. "I came to apologize."

First Aid dropped the tool he was holding and then jumped when it clanged loudly upon hitting the ground. "Excuse me?"

Prowl took a cautious step forward but stopped when First Aid shifted his weight the tinniest amount. "Jazz was kind enough to show me what happened during the gap in my memory files. I know I hurt you. I came to apologize for that."

First Aid looked away then, his frame heating with embarrassment. "You weren't in your right processor. Ratchet said you don't even remember it happening."

"That is correct." Prowl confirmed, not moving yet. "I have no independent recall of the event. That does not mean I do not owe you a formal apology."

First Aid looked at him, engine revving weakly, though he looked somewhat irritated. "I don't _want_ a formal apology."

Prowl blinked, not expecting to be rebuffed in such a way. But the way First Aid refused to meet his gaze for longer than the briefest of moments testified that something was most definitely wrong with the young apprentice. He seemed even more nervous and unconfident than when Chromia had tried to coerce the medic to repair him that first time.

Then Prowl understood. _That_ was exactly what had happened; First Aid's confidence had been shattered. That was untenable and guilt stabbed at Prowl's spark even as his tactical computer immediately set to work on what he could do to help remedy the situation. It presented a solution within astroseconds, though Prowl was not overly fond of the solution itself.

He released a resigned vent, not giving any other outward indication as to his personal opinion. He had to approach this carefully or it would only drive the timid medic away even further.

He kept his voice soft. "If you do not wish for an apology, there is only one thing _I_ would ask of you instead."

First Aid's optics narrowed and he shifted away. "What?"

Keeping his doorwings in their deferential tuck, Prowl continued. "You saw the damage done to my command cortex?"

First Aid nodded, giving a small shudder at the memory. "Yeah. It's remarkable you're still… well, _you._"

"Indeed." Prowl agreed easily. "I understand you did not participate as Ratchet repaired the coding."

For some reason it was not as hard to discuss if he kept it to the third-person; less personal perhaps.

First Aid shook his helm vigorously at that, taking a tiny step backwards. "No. It was too soon… I… I couldn't." he sounded acutely stressed and Prowl knew he was touching the crux of the matter.

Prowl took in a deep vent, keeping his gaze averted just enough to not be threatening. "I would like you to look at the codes."

"What?" First Aid squeaked.

Prowl ventured to take a step closer, still attempting to show by body language he was not a threat. "Because of me, you missed out on an important learning opportunity. Ratchet is a very skilled code writer. While it is not the same as seeing the repair done real-time, it will still be beneficial for you to see it now."

First Aid just stared at him. "You _want_ me to go back in your head?"

"I want to make up for what my uncontrolled actions did to you." Prowl corrected gently.

He saw conflicting fear and increasing curiosity war on First Aid's faceplate. The longer that conflict continued, the deeper Prowl knew the damage had been done. He doubted the damage to First Aid's budding confidence was limited to dealing with him. That was _not_ something he could allow to continue.

Making a decision Prowl deliberately sat on one of the nearest berths and gestured the medic closer. First Aid approached, optics wide looking almost numb. Pushing away his own discomfort at what he was about to do for First Aid's sake, he took up a position on the berth identical to the one he had taken when First Aid had repaired him that first time, ducking his doorwings into a mirroring, submissive posture.

"I… I can't." First Aid stumbled, cringing, a look of raw fear and remembered agony flashing behind his optics.

"The fragmentation was worse than you told Jazz." Prowl observed softly.

"I…" First Aid looked down. "Jolt had to help me because Ratchet was still working on you. It… it was…"

"Worse than any physical pain you have experienced." Prowl supplied gently.

First Aid just nodded, looking anywhere but at Prowl. Prowl's spark ached, _knowing_ what First Aid had experienced because of his… glitch. He _wanted _to help First Aid overcome this renewed insecurity. It was something the protector, the guardian in him _needed_ to do.

"I have not yet rebuilt my firewalls." He said, watching First Aid with genuine compassion in his optics even if it was not reflected greatly in the rest of his posture. He continued, pleased with the steadiness of his voice as every instinct he had screamed against what he was about to do. "Activate the magnetic restraints. Examine the repaired coding: I will not be able to hurt you this time."

First Aid's armor rattled slightly as he began trembling physically. "That isn't necessary…"

Prowl realized then what needed to be done to make sure First Aid did what he had to do in order to regain the confidence he had lost. Once more his instincts rebelled, but he reminded himself that he was planning to give First Aid access to his processors any way. This was no different.

Thankfully, the Prime himself had given him the means to push this issue.

"Do it, First Aid." Prowl ordered, firmly but not harshly.

First Aid blinked, spinal struts stiffening at the tenor of command in that order. His optics darted down to Prowl's collar struts, taking in the new rank insignia etched into Prowl's armor for the first time. His optics widened in shock

Then, seeing Prowl did indeed have the authority to issue such a command, he cleared his vents. "Yes… yes sir."

Prowl held perfectly still until the magnetic field activated and then relaxed against it. He slid aside the appropriate pieces of armor and then shuttered his optics as First Aid reluctantly synched with his processor.

First Aid's tension was palpable through the hard line connection and it made some of his lower level defenses activate automatically. Prowl's doorwings flicked minutely at the faint stabbing sensation that caused, but knew it was nothing at all compared to the intense pain from fragmentation the young medic had experienced and thus did not respond to the discomfort, did not even react otherwise.

For his part, finding that Prowl was defenseless, just as he had said, First Aid began to relax and that allowed his medical programming to kick in.

The weak but definite stabbing pain vanished, replaced by the relatively soothing touch of medic-specific programming. It was a good sign and Prowl transmitted a wordless encouragement to the younger mech.

First Aid started with the peripheral coding of his command cortex, examining how Ratchet had spliced them back together. Then he looked deeper, examining line by line, the 'scaffolding' that bridged the worst of the damage. True to his word, Prowl remained absolutely still, not interfering at all, letting the young medic look at whatever he wanted, letting him take whatever time he needed.

Prowl could not help but notice, as this was the first time he had experienced the junior medic's mental touch in his mind without the CMO accompanying him, that First Aid's presence was, while nearly just as strong as Ratchet's, was actually less uncomfortable.

As deep in his command cortex as First Aid was, he could not help but pick up on that observation and he ducked his helm fractionally, internal systems warming.

"It is true, First Aid." Prowl assured verbally, letting his lip plate quirk slightly hoping to help the young medic relax. "He has synched with my systems frequently enough for me to be able to make that comparison with a fair degree of confidence.."

First Aid stared and then chuckled. The sound was quiet but it was enough that he was able to relax and continue the exam in a much more fluid and efficient manner.

It took nearly ten breems for First Aid to allay his professional curiosity. In that time, neither mech was aware of Jolt's blue and black form as he watched from a distance for the span of one breem before quietly ensuring the two were not disturbed by anyone else.

By the time he was finished, First Aid's nervousness had completely abated. He pulled back, disconnecting and hastily releasing the magnetic field that had held Prowl to the berth. The junior medic stepped back as Prowl's frame shifted and settled.

Prowl released a vent and slid to his pedes, glad that First Aid did not retreat further.

He looked at the younger medic. "Had I been in control of myself, I would never have harmed you, First Aid."

First Aid nodded and, even though it was the same sentiment Jazz had expressed on his behalf in the memory Prowl had been given, the medic was much more confident than he had been for the saboteur. "I know. Prowl… I'm better now. I really am."

Prowl allowed his doorwings to dip further. "That is good. I…" He cleared his vents, truly uncomfortable expressing emotional sentiment. "I am not sure I would have forgiven myself if I was unable to undo what my actions did."

First Aid blinked and then instinctively reached toward Prowl, he hesitated and then laid a gentle hand to Prowl's shoulder. "Prowl… Thank you."

"You are welcome, First Aid."

Finally, for the first time in just over three orns, First Aid was able to smile.

* * *

_Ok. _

_One: The title came from the legal and/or moral/ethical duty that all public servants (police, fireman etc...) and medical personnel (nurses, EMT and doctors etc) have to render aid to those who need it, even when off duty. (Oh, I got a couple of people asking what type of medical professional I am... Here is your answer: I am a registered nurse)_

_Two: I know the two memories might have been a little awkward to follow… but I was trying to show Prowl's POV while he was experiencing Jazz's POV without loosing sight of the fact that it was still Prowl's POV. So, yeah, I did the best I could._

_Three: Moving forward with getting Prowl on his path to becoming SIC of the Autobot army… Oh, that reminds me, I have had a couple of people ask how far I am taking this story. The answer is simple: Until Prowl becomes the Prime's Second in Command. He is only taking his __**provisional **__role as second in command of the __**Tactical Department. **__So, we still have some way to go. And yes, as will become apparent as the plot moves forward from here, this story may possibly be considered a prequel to TF1. _

_Four: There is a time jump coming up, not the next chapter but soon. See, I figure that he would have to serve as second in the tactical department for at __**least**__ a vorn before he gets promoted to __**Commander**__ of the tactical division. So… yeah If I tried to portray that entire vorn without a time jump I'd never get to finish the story. _

_Five: I will do my best to get the next chapter out as fast as possible, but the circumstances that are keeping from my computer are not likely to change for… a while. I thank you for your patience. (Seriously though, It's only been a little over two weeks. I've kinda been spoiling you guys. ;) )_


	36. Fallout

_Okay my friends… A lot happens in this chapter so hold on and take notes. I know a lot of you asked questions and requested a deeper exploration of certain issues and characters. I couldn't fit everything into this chapter, but I will do my best to address those issues, though I can't promise I'll get to everything. If I don't get to them in a couple of chapters, feel free to remind me/ ask again. (See AN at end of chapter for more lengthy discussion on a couple of topics.)_

_Without further delay:_

* * *

Early the next orn, Smokescreen greeted Prowl at the lifts that would take them to the command level. The white and gray Praxian flashed his former mentor a quick smile in greeting then grew serious, looking at him more evaluatingly.

"How are you doing Prowl?" Smokescreen asked.

Prowl gave his former apprentice a pointed look. "Ready to return to work."

"Good." Smokescreen paused, his optics falling to the new rank engraved on Prowl's chassis. "You know, your promotion makes you my second in command."

"Indeed." Prowl narrowed his optics at Smokescreen hearing a decidedly pleased tone in his voice. "You are enjoying this."

Smokescreen made a face. "Not as much as you might think." Then he smiled brightly. "And only because I know it's temporary."

They stepped off the lift and Smokescreen took the lead. "Come, I am going to formally introduce you to the staff."

Prowl released a vent as he fell into step with his former subordinate. "I doubt this will go over well."

Smokescreen shrugged a doorwing minutely, though a smirk was evident in his voice. "At least they've all gotten used to working with you. Well, _most_ of them anyway."

Prowl glanced at him and then released a sigh of air through his vents. "We shall see."

"Twenty credits?" Smokescreen cocked an optic ridge back at him.

Prowl shot him a look. "You know I do not gamble."

Chuckling, Smokescreen nodded. "True. Figured it wouldn't hurt to try though."

Prowl snorted air through his vents, though he began to believe he could positively identify something else about his former apprentice that was different: Smokescreen was almost giddy.

As they arrived in the tactical command center, Smokescreen sent out an alert to all his staff that there was to be a staff meeting as soon as everyone was gathered. Such meetings were not unprecedented in such a department, because situations could arise at any time that would necessitate an impromptu briefing.

Smokescreen stood beside Prowl as everyone else waited for their department commander to begin the briefing. If Prowl were a mech given to flights of fancy, he would have imagined Smokescreen was taking an almost protective stance.

Once everyone was there, Smokescreen cleared his vents and gestured toward Prowl. "As you can see, in light of Prowl's abilities to almost single-handedly run the defense of Iacon, as well as his vast experience with tactical command, he has been promoted to lieutenant commander."

Trailbreaker recoiled physically, took a look at the rank etchings on Prowl's chassis and then looked back at Smokescreen. He was not the only one to have that reaction, though he was the first one to speak.

"That would make him the second highest ranking mech in the department." Not even Prowl could mistake the bitter emotional undertones in that short observation.

Smokescreen nodded. "Yes." Then he looked around at the expressions on the rest of his staff. Prowl had already seen their reactions and only a sense of propriety regarding his new rank kept him from looking down.

Instead, he kept his outwardly calm gaze focused on Smokescreen as the younger mech continued. "I can see this troubles many of you."

The other mechs in the department looked at each other as if hoping for someone else to have the courage to speak first. A couple looked at Prowl, but never for more than the briefest of moments before glancing away. They knew he would be their commanding officer, especially if any protests they might have were not heeded.

No one wanted to risk making a target of themselves.

It made Prowl's spark ache that they still feared him in such a manner and to such a degree, not that he could blame them considering his recent history of a near decavorn spent with the Decepticons. In their place he would be worried too. But he knew how important it was that they be able to discuss their concerns. The easiest way would be to remove himself from the equation, at least temporarily.

He looked at Smokescreen and cleared his vents. "Perhaps I should excuse myself for a few breems, Commander."

Smokescreen glanced at him and shook his helm. "No. They need to learn that you will be a fair an unbiased leader." He looked back at Trailbreaker. "I am still the department head. So, let's hear it?"

Trailbreaker glanced at Prowl, his nervousness clear in the tense set of his armor. "Well… no offense, but until just over a decaorn or so ago, he was still a Decepticon, even if he was a defector, and he was a fairly high ranking Decepticon at that."

Prowl released a quiet vent as the other tactician's concerns – confirmed by the various nods from the others around them – were not far off from what he had suspected.

"Does he look like a Decepticon any more?" Smokescreen asked pointedly.

Once more, all optics focused back on Prowl. Trailbreaker shook his helm quickly, his nervousness spiking. "No… and I don't think he is but… a decaorn? Second in Command?"

Smokescreen shifted unhappily beside him, But Prowl spoke before his former apprentice could. "Indeed. I too believe this promotion to be rather swift and wholly unexpected."

Fusion glanced at Prowl and then focused on Smokescreen, his copper and blue armor flaring unhappily, his doorwings twitching his displeasure. "But to ask us to accept him as a commanding officer at _all_, let alone so soon is…"

He drifted off, glancing at Prowl, not in fear, Prowl deduced, but rather in well-controlled anger. He remembered Fusion's stint as his monitor and knew this needed to be dealt with delicately. Hopefully his tactical computer would be up to the job, since interpersonal skills were not his forte.

"Do not think I am unsympathetic with your concerns." Prowl met Fusion's glinting optics, before letting them slide over those of all the other mechs present. Wariness and concern marked every single faceplate. It took him a moment, but then it hit him. While he had no doubt they were seriously concerned about him and his past, Prowl also suspected their fears matched those Jazz had hinted at when he had first started working in the tactical department.

They feared he would be manipulating Smokescreen, running the department even if only through his former relationship with their commander. He made this observation even as his tactical computer returned with a recommended plan of attack.

He looked at Smokescreen. "With your permission, Commander?" He asked with a deferential tip of his doorwings.

Smokescreen blinked, but neither Praxian missed the muted shock and swift flicks of relief that briefly registered on a couple of faceplates. After a moment, the white and gray tactician nodded.

Prowl ducked his head at Smokescreen's gesture and continued, his tone and expression carefully controlled. "I recommend we proceed as we have already done. If at any time actual problems or concerns arise, they can be brought to either my or your attention and dealt with directly at that time."

He looked back at Fusion and then at Trailbreaker and Tailgate who was standing right next to him. "If I violate your trust – or you perceive that I have violated it – I will not balk at accepting whatever consequences I may incur."

Trailbreaker considered him closely, glanced at Smokescreen then nodded slowly. "I admit, that approach worked when I was your monitor. But…" He straightened and met Prowl's optics, his posture almost challenging. "Decepticons handle command differently."

"They command through fear and dominance." Prowl acknowledged easily, nodding.

"Exactly."

Unspoken was the underlying concern – fear even – that he would do the same, as well as an almost betrayed sense of disbelief that the senior command staff, the _Prime_, would do that to them.

"I was with Megatron for less than a single decavorn." Prowl said slowly, measuringly. "I led the tactical department in Praxus for over twenty-five decavorns before the war. They would not have tolerated Decepticon-like tactics in the Enforcer Corps."

Prowl allowed his lip plate to quirk upwards as he continued. "Besides, my role in Megatron's forces was more akin to that of a tactical aid than department head." At their puzzled and startled looks, Prowl explained quickly. "I was his only tactician and my job was not so much to determine tactical policy but to make recommendations for Megatron's personal approval."

Tailgate's optics narrowed. "Before I take _any_ order from you, I want to know which of Megatron's despicable policies you _are_ responsible for."

Smokescreen moved uneasily, but Prowl nodded, outwardly calm though he was impressed that this information – already in the command staff's as well as a few other individuals' hands – had not filtered down more widely to the lower ranks. Even so, he knew this might be a tipping point in their willingness to listen to him.

"A reasonable concern." He said softly. "Megatron's policy of destroying Autobot energon sources, the intentional targeting of medics and other Autobot non-combatants and, while I did recommend _against_ the killing of sparklings and neutrals, I did not object. It was also my recommendation to purge the Planetary Guard ranks of all Autobots and Autobot sympathizers. Furthermore, he also destroyed the primary Autobot training facility here in Iacon and the one in Cadmium Plexus on my suggestion."

Engines were revving angrily but Prowl only flinched a doorwing as he continued to list the recommendations he had made that Megatron had implemented against the Autobots. He was not blind to the shift in the mood of those around him and sensed that he had probably lost any cooperation he might have gained – regardless of his undeniable skill in his area of expertise.

Fusion's optics were blazing by the time he was finished and he glared at Smokescreen, his words coming out in an angry hiss. "And you expect us to follow his commands?"

Prowl's doorwings flicked against his will and he lowered his gaze, not in a submissive fashion, only enough to telegraph that he was not going to protest the other mech's rightful anger, nor the heated agreement offered by the others.

Only Trailbreaker was peering at him silently – thoughtfully – rather than reacting to what he had said.

Smokescreen's engine was revving as well, but his focus was on the rest of his staff, not Prowl. "The _Prime_ did not grant him this rank simply to make him a figurehead. You all _saw_ what he is capable of. You can all see what an advantage he will provide our side in this function."

"But…" Tailgate started only to have Smokescreen cut him off.

"Surely you can also see he isn't the same mech who worked for Megatron!"

Prowl managed not to flinch as that declaration, accompanied by a broad gesture in his direction, served to bring everyone's attention back to him.

Smokescreen did not give any of them a chance to react before he continued. "Of all of us in this room, _Prowl_ would have the right to boast in his tactical abilities and skill and yet he has allowed each and every one of you, at some point or another, inside his head to monitor his work. _Inside his head! _What_ Decepticon _would do that?"

Tailgate backed off, looking just as chagrined at the reminder as the others did, though he still did not look happy. Nor did anyone else.

"Does this mean that he will actually have command authority over us, or will this just be a function-oriented title?" Trailbreaker asked cautiously.

Prowl glanced up at the other mech, hearing the threads of hurt in his voice and understood. Qualifications aside, he was being promoted above _everyone_, but Trailbreaker especially had a tough chip to integrate in that, in essence, he was being demoted from his role as second in command of the division.

Smokescreen must have sensed the same thing for his reply was notably softer than his previous declaration. "He will be serving in both the function and role dictated by his new rank."

Vents flared around the room and Trailbreaker's frame heated.

"My promotion in no way reflects poorly on your own performance in this position." Prowl said softly but sincerely.

Trailbreaker looked at him sharply. "You have not been in this department long enough to say that."

Prowl's doorwings flinched, but he did not deny that statement. He could not, even if he was right that his promotion had nothing to do with a shortcoming on the other tactician's part. Instead he spoke to what he felt was the spark of the matter.

"I do not claim to have earned this rank or position, and for the very reason you are reluctant to follow my command. I am not asking for your trust any more than you are comfortable in giving it. Nor am I asking you to show any more respect to me personally than that which the rank itself requires."

The silence that claimed the tactical command was uneasy as they realized what Prowl had just done, as they processed the concessions he was making to them.

Finally smokescreen blinked and looked away from Prowl. "The bottom line is that this has already happened. If any of you are so strongly against it that you no longer wish to work in this department, you may request a transfer…"

Prowl's gaze sharpened with alarm and he spoke into a brief pause in Smokescreen's delivery so that anyone would be hard pressed to say he actually interrupted him. Not technically.

"Before you do, however, I would like to request that you come speak with me and see if we can come to an equitable solution. I do not wish to cause major upheaval in this department. You are an effective team." He looked at Trailbreaker. "My goal is only to build on that effectiveness, not to make any of you turn away from your function."

Smokescreen nodded firmly, as if he and Prowl had rehearsed that dialogue, "Anything else?"

"This… is going to take time to adapt to." Fusion said lowly but that was it.

They dissipated back to their assigned tasks, the atmosphere in the tactical command more tense than it had been.

Prowl released a vent just before Smokescreen leaned close to him, speaking so softly only he would hear. "Well. That went better than I'd hoped."

Prowl canted his former apprentice an arched look. "If memory files serve, _you_ were the one willing to bet twenty credits on this."

Smokescreen merely shrugged a doorwing. "I guess we have different definitions of what 'smoothly' means."

Prowl just watched as Smokescreen ambled back to his office, leaving him to stare bemusedly after him.

… … …

Prowl spent most of his first day as the second in command of the tactical division reading reports and getting caught up. As he had suspected, his position as 'paroled prisoner' had meant that a lot of important information had been held back from him. While that had improved once he had officially joined the Autobots, it was still true that much had been left out.

At one point he heard a frustrated noise coming from one of the lowest ranking technicians, one who had not dared say anything during the briefing earlier and who had been too low ranking to be his monitor. Prowl's gaze snapped instantly to the individual, who's designation was Driver.

Driver glanced up guiltily to meet Prowl's optics briefly before he ducked his helm, the low whine that escaped his engine a sound of fear.

Prowl kept his doorwings stiff, not letting them react to the sound, nor the sudden attention he felt focused on him as he stood and walked toward the distressed mech. Driver hunched his shoulders as Prowl approached, as if he hoped he could disappear.

"What is the problem?" Prowl asked quietly, letting his doorwings settle into a non-threatening posture.

"I… um…" Driver cleared his vents and looked miserably at his terminal.

From the reports he had read earlier, Prowl knew that Driver was focusing on compiling all recent Decepticon activity into a usable, searchable database. He also knew Driver was relatively new to his function and his assignment. It was a daunting task for a single, inexperienced, young mech.

Driver's steel gray armor was starting to tremble in his distress and Prowl put two finger's to the younger mech's arm. "What have you accomplished so far?"

The question was asked as gently as Prowl could manage and thankfully, Driver's trembling eased, though he was still clearly uneasy as he pulled up a hasty report to show him.

Prowl glanced over it and then nodded, pointing to a section of incomplete analysis. "Is this where you are having difficulty?"

Mutely, Driver nodded.

With a silent nod of his own, Prowl settled onto a nearby stool and then proceeded to walk Driver through the difficult portion of the analysis. Though he was clearly nervous at first, after nearly half a joor, Driver had relaxed enough to ask questions. Prowl answered every question asked and once they had finished that particular data string, he gestured to the one's Driver had already done.

"If you run this comparison and analysis with the other data sets now, it will save you the effort of having to do it at a later time and will increase the accuracy of your final report." Prowl offered gently.

Driver nodded quickly. "Yes… sir. I see that now. Um… thank you. Sir."

Prowl allowed a half smile to grace his lip plates for just long enough that the other mech could see it. "You are welcome, Driver. In the future I encourage you not to wait till you are so frustrated."

Driver blinked as if surprised Prowl knew his designation then he started to say something but did not, ducking his helm.

Prowl waited silently for him to say what ever it was, but when he did not, he encouraged him with a soft, "yes?"

"Oh… it's nothing I just…" When Prowl did not back off, Driver lowered his gaze, speaking in a low rush. "I just didn't think that you would be so kind about this, I mean mistakes and all, because it's my understanding that Decepticons just kill mechs who don't understand or mess up. I mean I know you aren't a Decepticon any more, but you used to be and I was just…"

He let out a gust of air and shrunk even further into his seat. "I just put my pede in my mouth again, didn't I? Sir."

While the oblique accusation _might_ have been insulting, Prowl was more worried about how many others might secretly be fearful of the same thing. He was also concerned at how Driver was cringing away from him anew. He did not want those working under him to be scared of him.

The breathless ramble had reminded him of Bluestreak and, even had be been inclined to take offense, that reminder would have prevented it. "Mistakes happen, Driver. So long as a mech strives for his best and works to minimize mistakes, and admits to the one's he makes, I will not deal with any mech with undo harshness. I would not have anyone fear me for such a matter."

Driver straightened then, looking at him. Then a tiny, nervous smile touched his lip plates. "Thank you for your help, sir."

Prowl blinked, but realized that Driver had taken his words to spark. He stood, nodding to the younger tactician. "You are welcome, Driver. Do not hesitate to ask for assistance if you need any in the future."

"Understood, sir." Driver said with assurance and then returned to his task.

With a lingering look at the gray tactician, Prowl returned to his other duties, not unaware of the thoughtful looks that followed him.

… … ...

By the time the shift was coming to a close, Prowl was starting to close up, locking down the terminal he had been using, when he received a communications ping from Ratchet.

_/When your shift is over, please come to the med bay./ _ It held both the tenor of a weak command and that of a polite request.

Prowl responded immediately with a formal. _/Understood, sir./_

Ratchet accepted that and broke the connection.

"Prowl." Smokescreen said quietly, walking up to his terminal before Prowl could begin to speculate what Ratchet's summons might be about.

Prowl lifted his gaze to his former apprentice, aware that they were now the center of attention of everyone in the tactical command. "Yes, sir?"

Smokescreen winced, but gestured him to follow. Silently, Prowl obediently rose to his pedes and followed Smokescreen into his office. Once the door was firmly shut behind them, the white and gray tactician released a vent of air and turned to face him.

"_You_ shouldn't be calling _me_ 'sir'."

Prowl could not stop the smirk that flitted across his features. "On the contrary Smokescreen. You are the department commander. Part of my job as your second in command is to support your leadership."

Smokescreen rocked back, seeming truly creeped out. "You're the master tactician. I…"

Prowl relented, relaxing the set of his shoulder plating. "Relax, Smokescreen. That I am your subordinate does not mean I will not continue to be your mentor if that is what you wish of me."

Unexpectedly, Smokescreen recoiled. Prowl had no way of knowing at that moment that his former apprentice was very much aware of his new ethical programming, of just how impertinent and self-serving simply acknowledging such a desire would be.

Belatedly, Smokescreen shook his helm. "That is not something I could ask of you…"

He looked down, both mechs unintentionally reminded of the last time he had asked something of Prowl, very much aware that _that_ time had resulted in Prowl being tortured at the hands of the Decepticons.

Prowl's doorwings twitched and he looked down, breaking the contact between them as he realized what Smokescreen was _not_ doing. "You could, and would have every right to do so." He disagreed softly. "I appreciate that you are not."

He paused, lifting his gaze back to his former subordinate. "Consider it an offer."

Smokescreen did not move, did not even cycle air. "Why would you make such an offer?"

"When you first accepted my offer to mentor you back in Praxus, you made a commitment to that apprenticeship. _I_ failed to meet the commitment of a mentor." Prowl readily and meekly explained.

"That doesn't mean…"

"Smokescreen," Prowl interrupted gently, well aware he was committing a mild violation of the boundaries of their new working relationship in doing so. "You have spent nearly a decaorn as a senior tactician. You have learned much of what I still had to teach you on your own. I am offering to continue your apprenticeship both because it is the right thing to do and because… it is something I _want_ to do."

Smokescreen started to speak then shook his helm. "No… not like this."

Prowl canted his helm a fraction of an inch. "Not like what?"

Smokescreen turned away, unable to meet his former mentor's gaze. "Prowl I… There is still so much between us, that… that…"

The white and gray Praxian froze, seeming to steel himself for something unpleasant before forcing himself to look back at Prowl. "I sent you on a mission knowing, _knowing _you would be caught and tortured. All the reasoning I have doesn't justify that. You could have been killed – and in a horrific manner and it was because I…"

"Stop." Prowl stepped forward, touching Smokescreen's arm in an uncharacteristic gesture of comfort. "Stop." He repeated and then waited until Smokescreen lifted his optics off the floor to meet his gaze before continuing.

"All of your reasons for sending me on that mission were legitimate." He said slowly, unable to hide the faint wince at the remembered torture. Nevertheless he continued seriously. "I have reviewed the information I had not been cleared to see until this orn. You have no reason to feel guilt about that assignment, for it is one I would have accepted willingly had I known what I do now, had I not found a better way to handle it, of course."

"_You_ probably would have." Smokescreen dropped his gaze. "It isn't just that. I knew it was wrong so I convinced myself it wasn't true. I didn't want to admit it, even to myself, but… I'm sorry. You have a right to know that at some level that… I had _wanted_ you to suffer. Maybe not that much, but… I… I don't know."

Prowl blinked, looking almost dumbly at the top of Smokescreen's helm which was now bowed contritely before him in the posture of the formal apology a younger mech might give to an honored elder.

He found he could not find words at first, his processor aching suddenly as a series of hard to define emotions whipped through him. But Smokescreen did not move, as if afraid to do so, as if afraid to face him, or at the very least hoping forlornly for absolution. It was not the action of a supervisor, but of an apprentice attempting to ask forgiveness from a mentor for something he considered a heinous offence.

Prowl realized _that _was what Smokescreen needed now. Taking a moment to consider his own spark on the matter, Prowl realized his former apprentice was acting remarkably mature in desiring to completely clear the air between them. It demonstrated obliquely how this war had matured Smokescreen.

Releasing a vent, Prowl took a half step closer, putting himself well within Smokescreen's personal space – even closer than required to let the tips of his fingers brush the white armor on the other tactician's arm. Smokescreen tensed fractionally and then forced his frame to relax meekly accepting Prowl's response.

If Prowl had still been inclined to hold a grudge against Smokescreen, that humble response would have softened him. After a brief hesitation, he placed a hand on Smokescreen's helm as he would a distraught youngling.

"I know." He spoke softly. "I _knew_ that was likely the case at the time."

Smokescreen's helm snapped up; his gaze incredulous. "You… knew?"

"I strongly suspected." Prowl amended gently.

"And… still you… you let me… You didn't have a choice. I was higher ranking and you _had_ to just because I out ranked you." Smokescreen turned away. "I still do." He said bitterly.

"As you should be." Prowl acknowledged with a small shake of his helm. "And I _had_ a choice in that I offered my assistance where _you_ desired it. I was not ignorant that you were unhappy with me."

Smokescreen snorted air at that understatement, still not meeting Prowl's gaze but nor did he attempt to move out from under the hand Prowl still had on his arm. "And you welcomed me in your head, regardless?"

Prowl cocked an optic ridge briefly. "I know _you_ Smokescreen. And while I admit that knowing you wished me harm hurt…" His words cut off with a hint of static: he was _not_ good at expressing emotional sentiment. After an awkward moment, he released a gust of air. "I never begrudged you for feeling betrayed, Smokescreen, nor for desiring recompense for that betrayal. It is true that I wish you had found a different way to repay me But I was well aware at the time that I had no justification to protest whatever method…"

"You aren't even angry are you." Smokescreen interrupted, finally looking up at him again. "You never were."

It was a statement, not a question and Prowl considered his former apprentice carefully. "No, not particularly. Would it help if I were?"

Smokescreen's optics widened and he recoiled faintly before snorting a huff of amusement. Then, seeing Prowl's expression that brief huff turned into a subdued chuckle accompanied by a wry shake of his helm.

"No, I'd still feel guilty." The younger mech said at last.

Prowl allowed a faint flash of a smile, truly glad to see Smokescreen was recovering. "Then you will simply have to find a way to cope, because I hold nothing against you, Smokescreen. And it is _my_ choice now to extend the offer to continue your apprenticeship if you wish."

Smokescreen smiled finally, straightening fully as his armor flared gently with relief. "That's more than I ever hoped for."

… … …

Prowl reported to the med bay as requested; promptly after his shift ended. There was nothing in the CMO's summons that suggested what this was about, though he suspected it had to do with Bluestreak's upgrade. For that reason he might have excused his surprise when he was greeted, not just by Ratchet but by First Aid, Jolt and another, medic he had not yet met.

They turned toward him in unison as he entered, the suddenness of their attention almost like a physical blow. Perhaps he had interrupted something; such as a case study or skill review.

But the way all four of them moved to converge on him – even if the still unknown medic seemed extremely hesitant and even Jolt radiated a level of uncertainty – made him reconsider that conclusion.

Not sure exactly what he was facing, Prowl buried his instinctive alarm at having _four_ medics focused so fully on him and looked at Ratchet, keeping his own posture respectful. "You wished to see me, Ratchet?"

As they neared, Jolt and the other young medic finally saw his new rank insignia and straightened uneasily, their armor going rigid, though First Aid was trying to hide a smile.

Ratchet merely nodded. "Yes. I did not have the opportunity to get back to you regarding your offer to train my medical staff in self-defense."

Prowl blinked, the scene before him suddenly taking on less…menacing… undertones. He nodded quickly, to cover his surprise. "That is understandable, considering the events that have transpired."

A grunt was Ratchet's response, though he gestured at the three junior medics standing with him. "Well, here you are. Your class of harmless, defenseless medics."

Prowl slanted the CMO a look that would have cowed a lesser mech. "Only a fool would classify _you_ as harmless, Ratchet."

First Aid's vents choked on the air he was cycling as Ratchet's optics widened at what was suspiciously close to a joke at the testy CMO's expense. Jolt smirked, though he tried to hide it by aiming it at the ground and the still unknown mech took a nervous half-step backward, eyeing his boss warily.

Then Ratchet grumbled something unintelligible before gesturing to the two mechs Prowl had already met. "You know First Aid and Jolt." He indicated the unknown. "This is Patch."

Patch did not seem to like being the center of attention, and Prowl did not miss the frightened flare of the young medic's armor. Like Jolt and First Aid had initially been, this medic was nearly terrified of him.

He stepped toward him but hesitated when Patch almost skittered away. He held his hand out to the scared medic, palm open. "I am Prowl."

Patch looked at his open hand as if it might strike him, then glanced up at his optics. "I…I know. Your reputations precede you. I'm just not sure which one to believe." He winced at the bite in his own words.

Prowl merely nodded, not retracting his offered hand. "I understand. Perhaps soon you will find out and you will see you have nothing to fear from me."

Patch's vents flared. "That doesn't mean I'll ever like you. I really, _really_ don't like being a target."

Prowl nodded again. "I do not blame you. This can still work, so long as you are willing to listen and learn from what I have to teach."

Patch hesitated and then nodded firmly. Then he glanced at Prowl's still open palm and belatedly reached out to touch it with his own. The contact lasted only briefly before Patch withdrew. "I… didn't mean to be rude."

Prowl allowed a tiny flick of a smile to touch his lip plates. "You where honest, Patch. That took more courage than you give yourself credit for."

Then, acutely aware Patch did not like being the center of attention any more than he did, Prowl glanced at the other three medics to include them in his next statement. "You are all aware of the commitment I am asking for?"

He received four determined, confirming nods. "When would you like to begin?"

Ratchet was the one who answered. "Tonight, if you're able. There is no telling what future orns will bring."

Prowl tipped his helm once in agreement with that observation. "I am able." He glanced speculatively at Patch and Jolt before continuing. "Allow me to collect Bluestreak from Chromia and meet me in training room five in a joor?"

Ratchet nodded. "We will be there."

… … …

First Aid followed Ratchet to training room five, the whole thing bringing back uncomfortable memories of meeting Ironhide in that same chamber. He shook his helm, it was not going to be like that again. Not with Prowl.

Oh, it was not that Ironhide was inherently mean, it was just he was impatient, especially when even after repeated lessons, the medics consistently failed to improve. The most basic things that warriors had to know consistently slipped through their fingers. He never harmed them, but… being on the receiving end of one of his 'standard' rants at 'stupid' mistakes was enough to scar a mech as inherently non-violent as First Aid and most of the medics.

And without combat protocols… they had been on the receiving end of such rants rather frequently.

But Prowl….

First Aid shook his helm as they rounded the last corner on the training level and the assigned door loomed before them. Prowl was not the ranting type.

He hastily hushed the traitorous part of his processor that silently suggested Prowl had the capability to be much, much worse than Ironhide. He _knew_ that would not be the case. Prowl had let him work on his doorwings. Prowl let him reconstruct his face. Prowl let him choose his optic color. Prowl had silently let him use excessive force to fix damaged _dorsal_ plating after he had scanned Bluestreak and _then _had ordered him to review the repair work Ratchet had done after his crash. Prowl was not like Ironhide, who would not let First Aid do anything but the most basic repairs. Prowl was…

First Aid's internal ramble was cut off midstream as they entered the training room to find that Prowl and Bluestreak were already there and that the room was configured as a shooting gallery.

He stood just inside the door, Jolt and Patch crowded close, almost nervously beside him as, after acknowledging their presence with a tiny gesture requesting that they wait, he told Bluestreak to continue.

Clearly nervous with the audience the sparkling nonetheless tried to refocus and started firing at various targets set up at different distances.

The nearer targets disappeared in bright flashes of holographic light, but the furthest ones were missed altogether.

Beside him, Patch made a distressed noise and Jolt shifted slightly, clearly remembering how heatedly Ironhide would have corrected such a mistake and worried for the vulnerable youngling. Bluestreak let out a frustrated whine.

However, all Prowl did was gently touch him between the doorwings.

Bluestreak looked up at his guardian. "I was getting them before!"

"You were not distracted before." Prowl replied calmly. "This is the first time you have had an audience. Can you tell me what happened?"

Bluestreak thought for a moment, then nodded. "I was too quick with the trigger."

Prowl nodded, the smile that briefly touched his optics, if not his lip plates, clearly the reward Bluestreak sought. "Correct. Would you like to try one more time?"

Bluestreak looked out over the course with some reserve, his doorwings twitching the direction of First Aid and the medics. Prowl seemed to be able to read the youngling's thoughts and it was difficult to believe the black and white Praxian had not initiated his guardian protocols.

"How about just one target?"

Bluestreak looked back up at him with adoring and clearly trusting, if still nervous optics and nodded. "I can do that. Well, I'll try. I'll do the best I can."

"That is all I ask." Prowl manipulated the controls until there was only one target, set at a slightly further distance than any of the previous ones. "There is no pressure, take the time you need."

Bluestreak nodded, shot a hasty glance toward the gathered medics and then lifted his rifle. Neither First Aid nor any of the other medics so much as twitched a stray wire, not wanting to distract the sparkling further. Prowl simply watched his young charge with outward serenity.

Bluestreak moved slowly, as if reviewing a mental checklist and, surprisingly, his vents flared twice in an even rhythm before stilling. Then energy lanced out of the training rifle. A nanosecond later the target evaporated in an explosion of pixels.

The youngling straightened out of his crouch, springing to his pedes with wide optics, his mouth agape. Then he was dancing on his pedes, turning in a little circle. "I did it, I did it, I did it! That was the farthest one yet, but I did it!"

First Aid almost fell over at hearing what sounded suspiciously like a tiny chuckle from the usually stoic Prowl. "Indeed. You did very good."

Bluestreak looked up at his guardian then placed his training weapon on the ground before racing forward to fling himself at Prowl's leg, then he was scaling Prowl's frame with absolute abandon and trust only to bury his face against Prowl's chassis.

"Thank you, Prowl."

With utmost tenderness, Prowl did nothing more reactionary than place an arm around Bluestreak. "You are welcome. But why the sudden clinginess?"

"I won't be able to do this in my next frame." Was all Bluestreak said.

Prowl's engine made an understanding rumble and his hold tightened fractionally before he turned to face the medics. First Aid glanced at those around him to see that Ratchet was hiding a smirk, while Patch was staring with wide optics and Jolt was likewise looking like he was on the verge of disbelieving what his optics had just recorded. Briefly the white and red medic wondered what _his_ reaction looked like. He had no idea he was smiling widely.

Bluestreak's voice cut into his contemplations.

"Ratchet, do you have my processor expansion yet? This seems like a really strange place to do that type of thing, I mean we could go to the med bay… especially if it's something you need the help of _three_ other mechs for. All you had to do was ask. I'm not so sure I…"

"I'm sorry Bluestreak." Ratchet interrupted the youngling with remarkable gentleness. "Your processor upgrade is not yet ready, it still needs to be configured and tested. Give me another decaorn at least."

The youngling relaxed palpably, then turned puzzled. "Then why are you here?" before anyone could answer, he brightened even more. "You are here so Prowl can teach you to shoot too?"

"To defend ourselves." First Aid heard himself answering Bluestreak with a smile. "Prowl is going to teach us to defend ourselves."

Bluestreak's optics darted to him and he smiled brightly. "Ooh. I'll get to do that once I'm in my next frame. I can't wait." He looked up at his guardian. "Can I watch?"

"Of course." Prowl answered with soft optics. "I will need to put you down, however."

"Okay." As quickly as he had initially scaled Prowl's frame, Bluestreak was back on the ground, beaming up at all five of the adults.

Prowl likewise turned his attention to First Aid and the other medics. He bowed his head formally. "Welcome. Thank you for your patience. One moment please."

He turned to the training room controls and, synching with them, quickly downloaded another program. The firing range dissolved. Moments later a new simulation coalesced into being. It was a large, half-circular room and a collection of weapons hung on the single straight wall. Along the curved half of the room, the walls were polished to a mirror shine.

Disconnecting, Prowl rejoined them. He gestured at the hologram around them. "This is a recreation of the self-defense training hall utilized by the Praxian Enforcer Corps, which served the same purpose as a dojo, but without all the formalities of proper etiquette associated with a dojo. Please."

First Aid followed the welcoming sweep of Prowl's arm as he bid them step onto the mat. Ratchet was right beside him and, after half a spark beat, Jolt and Patch followed. Bluestreak was watching them closely, then he chuckled and scampered to one of the corners where curved wall met straight and settle to the ground.

"Silly mechs. Prowl isn't going to hurt you, you know. He's a really, really good teacher." He smiled at them. "Just trust him."

First Aid found he was returning the little one's grin with one of his own and he realized he _did_ trust Prowl.

The fragmentation of his processor had truly been a blow he had not been sure he would recover from. But then Prowl had come to him, not even a full orn after having been discharged from the med bay. He _knew_ Prowl's dislike for being immobilized, he _knew_ Prowl's distrust of medics – gained after nearly a decavorn of being at the mercy of the butchers who were the Decepticons passing themselves off as medics.

But he had come and submitted – no, _ordered_ – him to examine his patched up coding. Prowl had been completely at his mercy, without even a shred of a firewall to protect himself. And still First Aid had been afraid, even as he had synched. He had known his defensive subroutines were active, had known that must have hurt Prowl. And yet the tactician had not even attempted to protect himself.

Those breems had been a very special time, he had not even told Ratchet about what Prowl had done for him, simply because he knew Prowl was a private mech. He had only shrugged when his mentor had asked what had changed. But it had affected him more greatly than he had initially realized.

He trusted Prowl now, implicitly and without reserve. Regardless of what the others thought or feared. And, he realized, he even felt more at ease knowing Prowl was the de facto second in command of the tactical department now.

Prowl caught his optics and First Aid saw the faint glimmer in them and the nod of recognition and appreciation Prowl gave him before focusing again on the group as a whole. He did not know that Ratchet had also seen the silent exchange, nor did he see the fleeting considering look that crossed his mentor's optics.

Then Prowl was speaking.

He paced in front of them, following the curved wall of the training room, meeting each set of optics a he walked past. "Self defense is eighty percent about mindset. Mindset and focus. The rest is about skill. The confidence that comes with learning the skills necessary will alone increase the odds in favor of success."

He reached the end of their line and returned to the center. "Would you let the Decepticons get to a patient under your care? Even if on the battlefield, surrounded by enemies?"

"Not willingly." Jolt answered. "That is why so many of us are casualties."

Prowl nodded, not responding to the slight bite in that sentence. "Exactly. The life of your patient depends on you. I would suggest, that more lives depend on you _not_ just _taking_ damage. By defending yourself, you _are_ defending your patients… and all of those who will need you in the future."

He paused to let those words soak into their awareness.

As First Aid allowed Prowl's admonition to process through his mind, he wanted to slap his face into one of the polished metal panels on the wall. Why had he not thought about it that way before? He had come close, had known that his patient's wellbeing depended on him not being damaged, but he had just never made the tiny yet significant leap that said defending _himself_ was _also_ defending his patient.

Prowl continued, suddenly seeming to be… _more_. He filled the space before them, his presence almost as compelling as the Prime's but… different. It was eerily similar to how he had ordered First Aid to scan his mind. First Aid could not help but give him his full attention.

"I understand that your systems cannot handle combat protocols. You can learn to fight regardless, it will just take longer and more effort and dedication. You cannot exchange your medical tools for weapons without compromising your function. You _can _learn to work with what you have." Prowl once again met the optics of every single medic, speaking slowly. "Your medical programming means that while you know how to _fix_ mechs, you also know best how to harm them."

Prowl lifted a hand to forestall the automatic protest First Aid – and the others apparently – had at that statement. "It also means you know how to incapacitate without killing, since intentionally causing harm is against your core programming. But I believe that, as you learn to fight, to defend yourself and your patient, you will find you will be able to do things you do not currently believe you can."

And… First Aid believed him.

Prowl raked them again with his piercing sapphire gaze before he nodded, satisfied with what he saw. His armor relaxed and that compelling nature to his demeanor released most of its grip on First Aid and he found he could cycle air more freely. Since when had Prowl become so much like the Prime?

"Initially, we will use training forms, both to train your frame and your mind. You will learn the motions and the mental discipline necessary. The determination that you use not to give up on a patient you are fighting to keep alive you will learn to use for _your_ defense, because if you are attacked _that_ is what your patient needs most."

With that, Prowl dropped fluidly into a fighting stance and had the medic's copy him.

The four of them attempted to do so, but it was awkward. After instructing them to stay in the stance, Prowl straightened to examine their efforts. He approached Ratchet first.

With gentle but firm motions, he helped Ratchet correct his stance then moved on to First Aid.

The white and red medic accepted Prowl's corrections to widen the position of his pedes and to drop his center of gravity. Even though Prowl murmured the reasons for the corrections as he made them, First Aid could instantly tell the improvement in his stability.

Prowl continued on to Jolt and then Patch. First Aid felt a fleeting stab of empathy as Patch winced the first time Prowl touched his wrist joint.

Prowl froze, but did not remove his hand. "I am not going to hurt you Patch. You have my word."

He waited after that until he received Patch's timid nod. First Aid might have imagined it, but he almost suspected that Prowl used the same level of gentleness with the green medic as he had with Bluestreak.

The lesson continued for another joor and First Aid was pleasantly surprised at how much they had learned of what Prowl called 'form one.' But then, in his processor he was not fighting, he was simply learning movements, almost like a dance. He certainly did not see how the series of motions he had just learned would be used to fight. But Prowl said they would be, so he would just trust that it would be made clear soon enough.

When they were finished, Prowl looked them over.

"You've done well, all of you." He gave them a tiny smirk. "You might not see it yet, or even believe me, but you have already learned all the most basic moves you will use in a fight."

First Aid blinked, and a quick exchange of looks with Jolt beside him confirmed that at least the blue and black medic shared his shock.

"You don't know how to use them yet, but you know them." Prowl nodded, clearly amused at their reaction, though only hint of that amusement slipped past his control. "As we progress you will learn to utilize the movements you have learned today, perfect those movements as well as more advanced techniques."

"When is our next lesson?" Ratchet asked for all of them.

"When would you like it to be?" Prowl returned, an optic ridge cocked fractionally.

"Tomorrow?" Ratchet asked and First Aid had to stifle a snicker. It was clear his mentor had enjoyed learning new skills. "If something happens, it could be orns before we get another chance."

Prowl nodded, though it was _almost_ a half-bow. "Tomorrow, then. At the same joor."

"We will be here." Ratchet said firmly, and First Aid nodded quickly. He was pleased that Jolt and Patch did likewise.

Having recognized that the lesson was complete, Bluestreak had made his way back to Prowl's side. He reached up with casual familiarity to put a hand on the adult's leg. Prowl, just as casually, put a hand between Bluestreak's doorwings.

The blue and gray sparkling was grinning at them widely, almost smugly as if he too shared his guardian's confidence that they would be able to learn how to defend themselves.

Or perhaps, seeing his obvious devotion to the black and white mech, he was simply confident in his guardian.

… … …

Late the next orn the rec room was teaming with mechs and even a smattering of femmes as the regular shift gave way to the unlucky crew assigned to work the night joors. Among them Beachcomber, Flareup, Hound and Blades were informally celebrating the latter's first day back on full-duty following the fractured spark chamber he had sustained during the battle where the Autobots retook two of their bases.

Blades was regaling them with his tales of woe… from his stint in the medbay.

"…Then he dinged me on the back of the helm with that wrench of his. Teach me never to try and sneak out, that's for sure." Blades put the hand that was not holding his energon up to finger the dent that the CMO had refused to pop out so as to make the lesson more 'lasting'. "If I never have to deal with _that_ again, it would be fine with me."

He did not bother to explain whether it was the cracked spark case or Ratchet's wrench that he was referring to.

Flareup was snickering at him. "Well, Ratchet refused to connect the motor relays to one of _my_ legs after he had to replace them from that botched Safe House Fiasco. Didn't do it until my repairs were finalized. Said it was the only way to keep me on the berth." She took a swig of her energon, not bothering to hide her smirk. "He was right."

"He over tightened a bolt on Sideswipe's knee joint when the fragger slagged him off pranking Springer and I." Hound winked at Beachcomber. "He could barely walk for an orn or two."

Blades chuckled finally. "Yeah, that's one mech I don't want to slag off. Ol' Ratch is a force of nature with that wrench, isn't he?"

They fell into a companionable silence then a flash of bright color at the rec room door drew his attention and he waved at the two conspicuous mechs who had entered. "Hey, Sides! Sunny! Over here."

Both twins paused, scanning the crowd until they found who had called them. When they saw Blades waving, they cut a path directly toward them.

Beachcomber stiffened, looking at Blades. He stood. "I'm glad you're out of the med bay. I… have some things I need to do. Um… bye."

Blades looked at him sharply and then, seeing Beachcomber's timid, darting glance at the approaching frontliners, realized the real reason he was suddenly fleeing. His silent apology filled his optics and the faint flare of his armor. Beachcomber nodded his understanding and offered a weak smile.

Unfortunately, the brief interaction gave the silver and gold front line warriors enough time to reach their table.

"Blades, mech… good to see you back in the game." Sideswipe grinned, giving the bright blue and silver mech a playful slap on the shoulder plating.

"Better to _be_ back in the game, Sides." Blades glanced at Sunstreaker – who was even more dour than usual – well aware Beachcomber was trying to make himself as invisible as possible. "What's gotten under your plating, Sunny?"

Sideswipe glanced at his golden half, when the indicated mech did not answer. "Oh, he's just steamed that Prowl saved our afts. Again."

Hound chuckled. "He's making a habit of that, isn't he?"

Sideswipe shot the olive green scout a dark look. "Don't remind us." Then he shrugged though the gesture was far from laid back. "But I guess if he's working in tactical now..."

Sunstreaker looked down, grumbling inaudibly and Sideswipe trailed off.

Hound was looking at the two Terror Twins then shook his helm and looked back at Blades. "You know, Prowl single-handedly ran the defense of Iacon when the 'Con's attacked a few orns ago. He did a spectacular job."

Flareup nodded reluctantly. "Sure did. Amazingly enough. I hear he was seriously injured too. I know he spent several orns in med bay unconscious. Gears was in the med bay when he was carried in by the Prime himself."

Sunstreaker frowned, glancing at Sideswipe. "He is a fragging _tactician_, how could he have been so badly injured sitting all nice and protected in central command?"

"The only thing that coulda happened to him would have been to his processor." Sideswipe finished his twin's thought and the intensity of their speculation caught more than one of their companion's attention.

Even so that caused a tense silence to settle on the group only to be broken when another mech joined them. It was Trailbreaker.

"I don't mean to interrupt, I just wanted to say it's good to see you up and about, Blades." Trailbreaker smiled at the blue and silver warrior.

He started to leave but Blades called him back. "I hear Prowl is working full time in tactical and that he saved us recently."

The front line warrior was not prepared for the bitterness that filled the tactician's optics. "Yeah. He saved us. Now he's a lieutenant commander and second in command of the entire tactical division."

Air hissed through multiple vents at that news. That was a higher rank than _any_ of them.

"Its… a little sudden for that, isn't it?" Flareup asked suddenly subdued.

No one answered her immediately; they only exchanged glances with each other, sympathetic to Trailbreaker's quandary.

As the silence stretched, it was Beachcomber who ventured to break it first. "But… doesn't that mean no one has to be his monitor? Isn't that a _good_ thing?"

Trailbreaker's optics flashed. "They could have accomplished that _without_ making him second in command of the department."

"But…"

"Shut up." Sunstreaker snapped, snarling. "You've never been where he is right now, so just shut up."

Beachcomber recoiled, backing up to put Blades between him and the golden twin. "S…sorry…"

"That wasn't necessary, Sunny." Blades chided, frowning.

"He is a fragging 'Con defector." Sunstreaker turned on Blades with a growl. "They _always_ turn on us. _You_ know that. Can you imagine what he could do to us – to _all_ of us – in that position?"

"I don't think _he_ will, though." Hound said softly. "I mean, it _may_ be too early for most to accept this… elevation to such a high rank. But, at least he isn't the second in command of the entire army. Besides, you have to admit, the engagements that he has coordinated have gone much better than any of the others, both in terms of casualties and the fact that we've unequivocally _won_ them. He's the only reason we all aren't dead or 'Con prisoners right now."

Trailbreaker's armor shifted, his systems heating. "Yes, we all know he's the best tactician there is."

"But he didn't need to be made second in command." Hound said quietly, nodding with sympathetic understanding. "Slag, mech. I'm sorry. You gonna be alright working under him?"

Trailbreaker remained frozen, his armor bristled, before he suddenly deflated. "Don't have a choice do I? Either that or transfer out of the department. But I like being in Iacon. And I like being a tactician."

"Just wait long enough." Sunstreaker shrugged. "He'll eventually do something that'll make the top brass see how wrong they were and he'll be back in the brig where he can't harm anyone."

Trailbreaker released a gust of air and slumped into an empty seat. "No… Actually. I don't think he will." He shook his helm, looking down at his hands. "And the thing of it is… I've been his monitor. He probably _does_ deserve to be promoted. He is most definitely _not_ a junior tactician, for all that we've treated him like one. Pit, he _is_ good enough to be the department _commander_."

Blades saw Sunstreaker and Sideswipe look at each other, something passing between them that was different than could be attributable to their concern over Prowl's supposedly questionable loyalty.

"We got an… early patrol next orn." Sideswipe said suddenly, stepping back from the table. "Nice to see you again, Blades. Later mechs… uh, and femme." He shot a glance at Flareup before pulling his twin away.

Blades watched them go, but dismissed them as Hound asked Trailbreaker another question, this time about how Prowl was treating the mechs under his command so far. Just like everyone else on the front lines, he knew that Sunstreaker and Sideswipe would do whatever they wanted and it was usually better not to be part of it.

… … …

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe walked close enough to each other that their shoulder guards brushed with every other step. They did not speak, neither one trusting themselves to express the conflicting emotions that were roiling through their shared spark. Not in public.

Sideswipe had felt his twin's normally tenuous control start to slip and was desperate to get him into a more private and secured setting. Someplace an innocent, passing mech would not accidently set him off. The only safe place was their quarters.

Though they were not spark-bound in the traditional sense, the Autobots had quickly learned it was best to keep them out of the main barracks and so they shared one of the larger quarters generally reserved for lower ranking sparkmates. It was not until they were safely behind their own door that either relaxed their guard.

Sideswipe slumped to the ground, his back to the closed porthole and watched helplessly as Sunstreaker paced like a caged organic beast, his engine growling irritably.

His own dismay at this turn of events echoed between them and fed off of Sunstreaker's concern and...

"This _can't_ be happening!" Sunstreaker whirled to face him, his fists clenched.

Though there was a snarl on his face plate and most mechs would have said he was furious, it was something closer to panic that washed across Sideswipe's awareness.

Sideswipe did not answer, there was nothing he could say.

Other than Smokescreen, they were the only other mechs who had interacted at all with Prowl before the war, and that had hardly been a cordial relationship.

The hostility in their past relationship had not been a problem when Prowl had been a paroled prisoner or an unranked Autobot tactician. Not for the two of them, at any rate.

There was nothing Prowl could have done – not legally at least – to repay them for how they had treated him. And, even if he might have been able to kick their combined afts to the pit and back, they had not truly worried about such a consequence. Not at the time.

Now he outranked them, putting their relationship uncomfortably back to what it had been in Praxus. But they had left the truly criminal behavior behind them, redirecting their usually destructive energies into being soldiers, warriors. It fit them better, settling their shared spark with a worthwhile goal. Their 'miscreant' behavior was now limited to mostly annoying pranks.

Except for where Prowl had been concerned.

In meeting his twin's optics, Sideswipe knew Sunstreaker was thinking the same thing as he. They had harassed Prowl mercilessly during his patrol with him and, not even a decaorn ago had all but threatened him. That he had let Sunstreaker back him up against a wall did not fool either of them, they had seen his six-joor long fight in the training room after he had been 'falsely' accused.

They had been angry at Prowl, concerned that he would betray them and the Autobots, who had accepted them even with their more destructive tendencies. But they were not ignorant. It did not matter that he had saved their lives multiple times now; they knew they had given him no reason to like them. The exact opposite, actually. They had given Prowl more than one reason to seek retribution.

"He's smart." Sideswipe said so quietly it was almost inaudible to his twin, but he knew Sunstreaker heard him. "Frighteningly smart. He won't do anything openly."

"Nor immediately." Sunstreaker confirmed just as quietly, unspeakable worry filling his optics.

Despite what everyone said, he was still a Decepticon defector, which meant he was still a threat. Only now he had more rank and authority than they did.

As Sideswipe stared bleakly up at his golden twin, the uneasy certainty that their past abuse of Prowl was about to be revisited on them echoed between both frontline warriors. The bright silver mech could not even honestly say they would not deserve _something_.

Regardless, both twins knew that they had new cause to worry now.

They also knew they would think of something.

* * *

_I know, I had a lot of OC's in this chapter. Don't worry, they are peripheral characters and will remain that way, even if they are returning characters. By peripheral characters, I mean a character that exists to move the plot along or to help define/demonstrate/build one of the primary characters. Sort of like returning bit-parts on a TV series. (Master Bra'tec (sp?) on Stargate SG1 would be an example) Here is a list of the OC's I have used in this chapter:_

_**Fusion**__: Tactician, Praxian, Copper and Blue coloring. (Will be returning in future chapters)_

_**Driver**__: Tactical technician, Unknown origin, gray coloring_

_**Blades**__: Front line warrior (brought back by popular demand following the mention of him in chapter 26) unknown origin, bright blue and silver coloring._

_**Patch**__: Junior medic, Unknown origin, green coloring. (Will be returning at least one more time in future chapters, more if requested.)_

_**Tailgate**__: Tactician, Unknown origin, gunmetal gray coloring. (Yes, there is a cannon Tailgate, but this is not him… at least not intentionally.)_

_Don't worry, the Twins will be back in the next chapter (You don't honestly think I'd leave them like this __**forever**__ did you?... Wait… don't answer that. :D). There will also be another Optimus/Prowl moment and another Jazz/Prowl moment. Don't know if I'll have room for more than that in one chapter, but I'll see. _

_Once again, a substantial time jump is coming relatively soon, if there is something you guys want to see __**before**__ that jump - anything that is just bugging you and you want to see followed up - I'm still accepting requests… (Yes, Bluestreak will get his processor expansion, so don't worry about that.)_

_Also, thanks to __**codythedude**__ for reminding me that I haven't yet dealt with Bluestreak's early difficulty with hitting the targets. He's getting there. My thinking is that Cybertronian's mature differently that humans do (go figure… sentient robots, right?) and that Prowl's initial concern will be more with broadening Bluestreak's ability to multitask and handle distractions and simply making him __**safe**__ and then he will start working on his aim… like he sorta did in this chapter. We didn't get to see it all because we were looking at it through First Aid's POV and…well, he knows even less about shooting a rifle than Bluestreak does. _


	37. Adjustments

After his second training session with the medics, Prowl was taking a few extra joors to catch up on some work he had not been able to complete during his normal shift that orn. He had not been able to finish this particular analysis because he had needed to keep a pre-existing follow-up appointment to allow Ratchet to check on the stability of his command cortex.

Ratchet had completed the brief scan, reported things were improving as expected, and then let him know it would be at least another orn before he and his staff would be free to have another training session.

Acknowledging that with understanding, Prowl had left to collect Bluestreak from Chromia in the base's sparse entertainment center. However, both younglings had been so engrossed in their holovid, Prowl had acquiesced to letting Bluestreak stay with his friend until it was over.

That had left Prowl free to work without additional, outside responsibilities; an opportunity he had jumped on with well-controlled enthusiasm.

He was so focused on his datapad and the computer terminal on his desk – which had been connected to the base's network and power supply by the time he had gotten back to his quarters from helping First Aid regain his confidence after his crash – that when his entry request sounded, it startled him.

Then, assuming it must be Chromia with Bluestreak, he almost did not scan for a spark signature. He did so any way, out of ingrained habit, and gave a mild start when his scan revealed it was actually Jazz.

Recovering from his surprise, Prowl granted entry, looking back down at his datapad. Jazz stepped in, glanced around briefly and then headed for Prowl's desk.

"Still unable to hack the lock?" Prowl asked mildly once the saboteur drew near.

Jazz froze. "Uh… didn't know ya wanted me ta." He looked back at the door and extended a hand – which had a cube of energon in it – back toward the portal in question. "My hands were full. But I could go back and…"

"Unnecessary." Prowl interrupted with a tiny flick of his doorwings, putting the datapad down and turning his full, polite attention to the head of Autobot special operations. "It is late and I assume you are here for a reason?"

Prowl was momentarily concerned that had come across as too callus, but Jazz only smiled, lifting the energon cube demonstrably. "I noticed ya didn't get your energon today, so I brought ya some."

Prowl lifted an optic ridge. Such a gesture seemed out of character for a mech like Jazz to do for a mech like him. Unless… "Still monitoring my activities?"

The inescapable blip his upgraded doorwings, detected from two separate light fixtures, indicated that that was a distinct possibility. But he did not want to jump to conclusions. Even so, the question had come out more accusatory than he intended.

Jazz hesitated at his tone, the smile falling from his lip plates. Then he shook his helm. "Nah, not like that. Ya just happened to be a very regimented type of mech. So, like I said; I brought some for ya."

Prowl blinked and finally looked at the cube of energon that was thrust in front of him. Realizing he had been borderline rude to a mech who – apparently – just went out of his way to bring him a ration of fuel, he belatedly gestured Jazz to the other chair as he accepted the cube. "My thanks."

The smile reappeared as the silver saboteur dropped gracefully into the offered seat. Prowl took a cautious sip, watching Jazz the whole time, trying to figure out _why_ Jazz would go to such an effort.

When his own attempts to figure it out failed, he decided to simply ask. "Why would you do this?"

Jazz blinked. "Is there a reason I shouldn't?" Then he hesitated in a way that was very much out of character before dropping his gaze to watch as he fingered some non-existent scratch on the surface of Prowl's desk. "Besides, it's the type of thing friends do for one another."

Prowl stared, his processor stalling and he had to fight back the sharp pain that suddenly threatened his still fragile command cortex.

But he remembered that fleeting thought from one of the memories Jazz had shared with him; remembered the fear that by helping Ratchet demolish his firewalls after his crash that Jazz had worried he would forfeit any hope that Prowl would consider him a friend.

_Friend…_

Jazz had been in his mind, had interrogated him; had fragmented him and stripped his firewalls. Mostly he had only done what his duty – or what the constraints of the situation – had required of him. Even if he had acted more recently for Prowl's wellbeing, Jazz was still entertaining the possibility they could be friends?

Friendship implied trust. Not just generalized trust, but a very personal type that by its very nature assumed the risk of possible betrayal… betrayal in the most painful ways imaginable.

He had had no friends in the Decepticon ranks and had learned not to desire friendships either. Then, when he had come to the Autobot base, he had accepted the fact that his history and past would prevent any of the Autobots from seeking him out as a comrade. Even Jazz, who had gone out of his way to socialize with him, had not seemed interested in taking the boundaries of their relationship beyond that of awkward acquaintanceship.

They respected each other and understood the darker side of each other's abilities. But… friend?

Prowl did not realize he had spoken aloud until Jazz straightened, shifting uncomfortably. "Well… not if the idea is that objectionable…"

The pain Prowl heard – or perhaps imagined – buried in that sentence came like a blow to his faceplate. He shook his helm quickly. "It is not objectionable… it is merely unexpected."

Jazz shot him a look that, while still hidden by his visor, said clearly he had a hard time believing that statement. Then, as Prowl became truly uncomfortable under his stare, he asked slowly. " 'Good' unexpected or 'bad' unexpected? Cause it's kinda hard ta tell."

Prowl blinked, realizing Jazz was still trying to determine if he should take offence. "My apologies. I am simply surprised that _you_ would wish to consider_ me_ a friend."

"How so?" The flare of Jazz's armor relaxed fractionally.

Prowl opened his mouth to tell him, but just could not force the words out. He cleared his vents and looked away. Jazz _had_ shared his memories with him, had made himself vulnerable to Prowl in an effort to help him. Even so, the tactician was hard pressed to figure out exactly why he was having trouble explaining something so personal to the mech. Perhaps it was his innate concern that Jazz knew too much about him already.

In the end settled for something he knew was a copout "It is just… unexpected."

Jazz's visor snapped up, probably so that he could cock an optic ridge more effectively. "So… I'm back ta 'good' unexpected or 'bad' unexpected?"

Prowl's processor started to ache at the absolute ridiculous turn this conversation had taken. With two fingers pressed against his temple plating he tried again to formulate a response. Then, in a flash of insight, he realized just how obtuse he was being.

He let his lip plate quirk upwards, peering at Jazz from under the hand he kept on his temple. "You do realize how absurd we sound right now?"

Jazz flashed him a cheeky grin. "Speak for yourself, Prowler. _I_ just asked a reasonable question."

Prowl jerked his helm back a millimeter, staring at the saboteur. For a long moment he was unable to reconcile the look on Jazz's face and the blithe tone of his voice to the statement itself. He was about to request clarification when understanding slammed into him: Jazz was _teasing_ him.

It was not the hurtful, spiteful type of cutting jest designed to derive enjoyment at another's painful expense, but simply the type of light-hearted banter and teasing that two friends might indulge in.

How should he respond? Rebuffing the humor might offend Jazz, or likewise, make the jokes become more biting. Responding in kind might either encourage future displays or appear too forward. Ignoring it was likely to cause offence as well… or trigger yet another attempt. Simply acknowledging the effort but not indulging in the same was likely to do the same thing.

Part of his processor rebelled, knowing that he and Jazz had shared similar conversations before and it had not posed this much difficulty to him at the time. Why now?

As pain licked the edge of his awareness yet again, Prowl knew the answer. His difficulty with comprehending and responding appropriately to friendly humor probably stemmed from the damage done to the emotional and logic interfaces within his command cortex.

Even recognizing the cause did not change the fact that his spark-deep desire for the camaraderie that a true friend could offer, the support that he had until that moment despaired of ever experiencing again, conflicted with his deep seated, well ingrained fear of trusting another mech to that extent.

He drew in a vent and tried to still his processors, but he made the mistake of looking at Jazz. The still hopeful, if hesitant expression – slowly morphing into worry – on the silver mech's faceplate only increased the conflict.

He opened his mouth to speak only to feel a faint clicking sensation within his processor before darkness enveloped him.

… … …

Prowl onlined only a half of a breem later to find he was sprawled face down on the floor. His doorwings told him immediately – even before he was able to online his optics – that Jazz was crouched at his side. His processors then told him that the saboteur's clawed hand was resting gently on his shoulder. The warmth that had built from the contact indicated it had been there for most of the time he had been out.

He released a vent, the air groaning through his systems as he sat up. Instead of removing his hand, Jazz shifted his hold to help steady him. Once he was stable on his knees, Prowl worked up the courage to look at Jazz.

The concern he saw in the other mech's unmasked optics mirrored the concern he had felt in Jazz's memories. It was enough to break through Prowl's reserves.

Jazz must have seen the change because he squeezed his shoulder once, his expression morphing into sympathy.

"Ya really don't know how ta handle this type of thing, do ya." He said quietly.

"I…" Prowl looked away, suddenly ashamed, though he was not sure why. He was about to pass off his failure as a result of his time among the Decepticons, but he could not bring himself to do that. As awkward and uncomfortable – and occasionally downright painful – as their relationship had been, it had always been marked by honesty. Brutal honesty in some cases.

Prowl could not bring himself to be the one to change that fact.

"A result of the damage done to my emotional and logic coding, I believe. Ratchet established a failsafe to keep me from actually crashing again. Apparently it worked." He heard himself explaining softly.

He felt more than saw Jazz's alarm. "Damage? Not… not because I had ta…?"

"No, I do not think so." Prowl interrupted Jazz quickly, still not looking up at him. "From damage done by the crash itself."

"Oh."

They sat in silence for a long moment, then Prowl felt the hand on his armor tighten again, tentatively. He looked up to see Jazz was leaning closer. "If that's the only problem, we can work around it. We can still be friends."

Prowl blinked then lowered his gaze again. He had been honest so far, might as well lay it all out now. "It has been a long time since I have not had to worry about other's ulterior motives and private agendas, especially when their behavior is what one might call 'friendly.'"

It was Jazz's turn to blink; then his engine gave a low rev. "Decepticons?"

Prowl nodded. "I do _not_ assume you are the same, but you should know where I am coming from. I fear it will be even harder for me to overcome because of my… condition; as you just saw."

Jazz considered him for a moment then nodded. "Fair enough, I 'spose." Then he grinned widely. "But I'll probably keep teasing ya, even if ya have a hard time getting it now."

Despite everything, Prowl found his faceplate softening into a hint of an answering smile, relief easing the tension in his frame. "Your efforts toward my complete recovery will be appreciated… within reason."

Jazz blinked and then he chuckled, the sound building into a deep laugh that Prowl found oddly rewarding.

… … …

"This is a bad idea." Sideswipe murmured fretfully even as he hacked the door controls to the auxiliary monitor station in one of the secondary structures making up the outer core of the buildings making up the Autobot's base in Iacon.

"Shut up, just do it already." Sunstreaker hissed.

"That's what I'm doing." And so saying, the door hissed open.

As expected, the small room was dark and silent. Both twins wore spark dampeners so the lights did not react to their presence. Not troubled by this, they quickly stepped in and let the door shut behind them.

Once they were enclosed, in order to illuminate their surroundings, each twin powered on the lights incorporated into their armor from their alt modes. Sideswipe carefully but quickly scanned the room, looking for the terminal he wanted.

Seeing it, he hurried to settle onto the stool before plugging in his cord and synching with it. Once the connection was made, he shuttered his optics and began the truly difficult portion of this clandestine operation.

Ten breems later Sunstreaker was getting truly anxious and restless. He started pacing. His increasing nervousness, which resonated between them, made Sideswipe look up at his twin irritably.

"Chill mech. I can't think with you worrying like that."

Sunstreaker shot him a dark look. "You're taking too long."

"You're the one who wants me to hack into med bay's records." Sideswipe made a face even though he looked down at the screen in front of him. "_Ratchet's_ records. Trying to hack _Megatron's_ personal files without getting caught would be a pit of a lot easier I bet."

"We need to know what happened to him." Sunstreaker groused, leaving Sideswipe to continue pacing the tiny chamber. "It isn't natural for a tactician to be injured like that. It could be dangerous and we have a right to know."

"I'm sure the Prime would…"

"The Prime wants to trust everyone." Sunstreaker snapped, then spoke softer. "He welcomed us into the ranks, after all. We have to know because we have to be ready. Just in case."

Sideswipe huffed. "It probably isn't even anything worth… oh. Hello."

Sunstreaker spun back around to face him. "You're in? What did you find?"

"This." Sideswipe pointed to the relevant lines of data.

Sunstreaker leaned over him and read quickly, then his optics flashed. "Wow. I never would have expected _that_."

Sideswipe nodded mutely in agreement.

They looked at each other, neither one exactly sure what they could – or should – do with what they had found. Not yet.

… … …

Prowl stared at his department commander, taking in Smokescreen's flared armor, his heaving vents and the stubborn set of his optics. Nothing in the younger mech's arguments had made him reconsider his position on the matter. Even so, the sharp way Smokescreen had said his name warned him that he had pushed too far with his objections. The tense silence around them, as all the other mechs watched in morbid fascination, only reinforced that fact.

Bowing as graciously as he could to the circumstances, Prowl intentionally flicked his doorwings back and down, though they only moved fractions of a centimeter, and lowered his gaze to Smokescreen's chassis.

Seeing his change in bearing, Smokescreen's own posturing eased. Then, to Prowl's utter amazement, a faint, relieved smile touched the white and gray mech's lip plates.

"You will see to the reorganization of the tactical department." Smokescreen ordered in crisp, clear tones that carried throughout the tactical command center.

"Yes, sir." Prowl answered, though he felt almost compelled to say more, to apologize. "Smokescreen, I…"

"No." Smokescreen cut him off, his relieved smile turning into a smirk. "I _expect_ you to notify me when you disagree with me."

Prowl felt the tension in the room dissipate almost immediately and instantly understood what had happened, what Smokescreen had manipulated that moment to truly accomplish. It had not been to humiliate him, but to prove something – to illustrate something – to the rest of the staff. It assured them that Smokescreen was unquestionably still in command and, doubtless because he had known Prowl would capitulate in the end in such a scenario, assured he got Prowl to reorganize the department based on his greater experience but it also reinforced Prowl's own authority over the other mech's in the department.

It was very similar to the way Prowl had manipulated Smokescreen into actually issuing orders that gave him a low-status job as well as one that required a monitor his first day as an official Autobot tactician. He had known Smokescreen would find a way to 'repay' him for that and, oddly enough, found he was actually rather proud that his apprentice had found a way to do so that also helped the unit as a whole.

He allowed the corner of his lip plate to quirk upwards to let Smokescreen know he knew what had really just happened and was rewarded by seeing the younger mech's frame relax perceptively.

It was no easy task Smokescreen had assigned him and he had appropriately thrown himself into it, determined to perform the task adequately and fairly. True, he knew a great deal about roughly half of the staff's strengths and weaknesses, but there were still a number of mechs he only had limited observation of. On top of that, navigating the treacherous landscape of the other tacticians' personalities in relationship to lingering concerns about himself… that was going to be a whole different challenge.

For all of their agreement to continue working in the department, to work under his command, most of the tactical staff was still wary around him: nervous. Fusion, while not openly rude or inappropriate, was actively _looking_ for a reason to contest Prowl's elevation. Nor had he made a secret of that fact.

Likewise, Trailbreaker was not exactly happy to have him promoted above him, even though he had yet to do anything openly inappropriate. That said, lately, he had been acting a little… off. Nothing major, only a collection of little things, such as a reluctance to meet his optics, the way his armor would tighten around his frame if Prowl looked at him and other such matters that might, in any other circumstances, indicate Trailbreaker was ashamed or embarrassed about something. But that conclusion made little sense.

For now, Prowl chose to ignore the behavior, hoping it would work itself out over time. If not – or if it became more obvious – he would have to address it. But for now he wanted to cause as little friction as possible.

Driver had, at last, started asking for his help rather freely when needed. A couple of the other junior level staff had tentatively followed their fellow's lead, though it was by no means universal or comfortable yet.

It would be a delicate balance, to establish his position as a commander but not go beyond the almost invisible social boundaries established by the fact that his rank and position were still _conditional, _barring successful completion of his probationary period.

He was not good at interpersonal communication. At the very least it was generally a source of discomfort and stress for him. He had to hope that his tactical computer would be up to the multilayered and varied tasks ahead of him. Because, in addition to all of his job related duties were those he owed Bluestreak as his caretaker and to the medics whom he had promised to train to the best of his abilities.

And that was why, later that orn, Prowl was taking an extra joor after his fourth training session with the medics to meditate and regain his focus and settle his spark. It did not help that, just before they had a left to return to the med bay, Ratchet had quietly confided with him that it appeared that his medical records had been hacked by an, as of yet, unknown assailant. It was unclear what had been taken or why it had been done, or even when exactly it had happened. But the medic had apologized with a grumbled complaint that this was the first time _his_ records had ever suffered such an indignation.

With more calm than he had felt, Prowl had assured Ratchet that a determined enough hacker would have been able to break into even the most carefully guarded files. When Ratchet had started to apologize again, Prowl had been quick to assure him that, for what it was worth, the medic still had his complete confidence.

Ratchet had stared at him then, searching his gaze for a long, serious moment before he dipped his helm in respectful acknowledgement. It was not the type of gesture Prowl would have expected a mech with the CMO's rank to give _him_, a provisional second in command of a single division. It was a gesture more befitting someone like Ultra Magnus or the Prime.

And it had thrown his already muddled processors for another loop.

As the first joor rolled into a second one, Prowl was just settling his processors when the training room door hissed open.

Prowl's optics snapped on-line and his doorwings flared, alarmed that his focus had been so diverted he had neglected to keep alert for the presence of others. That had been happing with disturbing frequency recently.

That alarm did not wane as, standing in the open doorway was the Prime, his red and cobalt armor flared, his sharp blue optics unreadable as they focused on him. It was not so much the larger mech's expression as it was a feeling that radiated off of him: he was not happy.

"Prime." Prowl scrambled to his pedes, sensing the discontent in his leader's demeanor and knowing instinctively it was directed at him, even if he did not know the cause.

"Prowl." The Prime stepped forward, letting the door close. "I understand you have taken it upon yourself to train the medics in self-defense."

It was said so neutrally that Prowl was even more guarded. Guarded and confused as to why the Prime would be displeased by that fact. Nevertheless, he would not lie. "Yes sir."

Prowl stiffened as the Prime circled the mat, though he did not move his head to follow the larger mech's progress, keeping his optics on the now closed door, his spinal struts ramrod straight. "It is my hope you are successful where Ironhide has failed in that regard. However, I am disappointed."

Prowl's tanks froze, though his doorwings flicked as he followed the Prime's circle with his sensors. "For what reason, Prime?" He asked carefully. Long vorns of practice kept his voice completely free of inflection.

"Ratchet told me over energon today that they have had _four_ lessons within the last decaorn, when it is been nearly a _quartex_ since the last time _we_ have met for a training session."

Prowl blinked, surprise making him glance at the Prime who was only then coming up on his other side. "You did not indicate that you wanted another session, sir."

The Prime was facing him again and Prowl knew his befuddlement was slipping through his control, as was some of his sudden trepidation. Or perhaps that was just the piercing nature of the Prime's gaze that seemed to strip him of his armor and reveal his very spark. He stood perfectly still under that penetrating gaze, his own optics falling respectfully.

After a long moment the stiff set of the Prime's armor relaxed. "I see. I was not clear enough the last time, my apologies. You are the master in this arena, Prowl. I would not impose in your domain unless the need was great."

Prowl blinked, then looked up to see that the Prime – the _Prime_ – had adopted the standardized, formal posture of a Circuit Su trainee making a ceremonial and official request of their Circuit Su master: Optimus' larger frame was inclined respectfully toward him and his optics were lowered to a neutral point on Prowl's chassis.

He had accepted that the Prime wanted him to be a teacher of the discipline. He had accepted that the Prime considered him _a_ master in Circuit Su. But never would have remotely considered the possibility that the Prime would _ever_ want him to be _his_ master in Circuit Su.

It was a serious commitment for both parties, one that brought with it a lot of possible complications.

Such an arrangement traditionally also gave the master a level of unofficial leeway if not a touch of social authority over the student. It was unprecedented that the _Prime_ would make such a request of _him: _a former Decepticon. Elita One's intense distrust instantly sprung to mind and he had an intense desire _not_ to incur her wrath and he had a feeling accepting that role would put him at risk of doing exactly that.

Yet, as a Circuit Su master – at least within the private world of their shared martial art – Prowl was honor bound and could not just refuse or ignore such a request without good cause. Good cause related directly to the student in question, not any peripheral issues that might arise. Especially not from the Prime; who held the rank and authority to force the matter if he chose.

He suspected that Optimus was, in fact, there to force the matter.

"Be sure of what you are asking of me, Prime." He implored quietly, desperate for the Prime to reconsider.

"I am sure." Optimus said without even a hint of hesitation, his optics burning in their intensity.

Prowl did not back down either. "This will change our relationship in a way I doubt others will accept or understand. As little as it will be, if I agree you will be giving me even that amount of authority over you." Optimus nodded and Prowl felt his tanks churn. "But you are the Prime. That should not be."

"I trust that is a fine line you will be able to balance appropriately." Optimus likewise spoke quietly.

Doorwings twitching, Prowl took a moment consider his next words. "This is not a step you should feel compelled to take. I will willingly teach you without needing to officially usurp your original master's place."

It was the wrong thing to say, Prowl realized immediately, as the Prime jerked his helm up from where it had been bowed deferentially; his bright cerulean optics narrowed dangerously, the light in them flashing. It was enough to make Prowl dip his doorwings even before the Prime spoke.

"Master Tarratron has been missing since the Decepticons destroyed the Autobot training facility here in Iacon."

Prowl's vents hitched. He knew what was coming, and shuttered his optics as he braced for the accusation – an accusation he _knew_ to be well deserved. He did not have to wait long.

The Prime took another step toward him, engine growling lightly with the intensity of the emotions underlying his words. "We both know who orchestrated that attack."

There was no anger in the Prime's voice – as Prowl just knew there should have been – only flinty conviction and determination. He did not step away, though he wanted to. He understood; the Prime was well within his rights to demand that Prowl personally take the place of his deceased master.

Prowl dropped his gaze completely. He would not take this fight any further.

Then he drew himself up and forced himself to meet the Prime's gaze before pulling himself together enough to offer a single, formal nod.

The lines of the Prime's frame relaxed even further and he smiled faintly before giving Prowl the traditional bow and, in flawless, precise and respectful tones, delivered the age-old words of a student requesting a master take them as their own.

Firmly suppressing his own misgivings, Prowl returned the bow and replied with the similarly archaic words of the master accepting the student.

Where the student's portion had been a request, the master's was a promise. "As you have asked, I shall be your teacher, your guide and your confidant on your journey toward mastery of this art, toward mastery of yourself."

They both straightened and looked at each other, Prowl battling his own roiling thoughts and the sudden emotions that threatened to make his processor ache, while the Prime appeared absolutely calm and collected.

In that moment of silence, Prowl realized that something intangible _had_ changed between them and yet… nothing had truly changed. He would find a way to fulfill his personal responsibility to the Prime without overstepping his military standing.

Silently Prowl gestured to the mat in front him and was not truly amazed when the Prime stepped onto it with yet another semi-bow. Curious, Prowl did nothing more than look pointedly down at the mat again and was only half surprised when the Prime dropped immediately into a proper meditative position. In fact, the larger mech's smooth obedience to the briefest and most minimal of non-verbal commands threw Prowl off more than the silent order had phased the Prime.

Prowl blinked and, for the briefest of moments, thought he saw a hint of a small smile touch the Prime's lip plates at his reaction.

Giving himself a mental kick, he nonetheless acknowledged the brief expression with a tiny one of his own. Then he took a deep vent and paced around the now kneeling Prime, satisfied when the Prime maintained his alert yet relaxed posture.

"Circuit Su is about more than just fighting or defense. It is about focus and awareness." Prowl let his lip plate twitch upward. "But this you already know if you studied under Tarratron. We have sparred and we have practiced Forms. This time we work on awareness."

By that point, Prowl was standing in front of the Prime again who, kneeling as he was, was only a meter or so shorter than Prowl. The Praxian accessed the room's holographic controls and quickly input what he wanted. Instantly seven spheres came into existence, floating in the air throughout the dojo at various heights and distances from the two mechs at its center. Only an astrosecond after they formed, they sprung into motion, each one moving through the room on their own, random vectors.

"There are seven spheres. Keep your primary focus on me. Tell me when they are down to four." Prowl explained the exercise briefly. "Begin."

Prowl initiated the rather hastily written program and the various holographic globes started disappearing one at a time as they twirled and spun through the simulated dojo.

The Prime did not have sensory doorwings to help him keep track of the flurry of flying objects, but Prowl had not made them solid enough for even his doorwings to be much help in any case. Instead, the exercise was designed to force a mech to use his peripheral optical range, in conjunction with the highly polished metal panels making up the wall, to keep track of the objects.

Optimus must have done a similar exercise before for, though his gaze remained locked on Prowl's, no sooner did the fifth sphere disappear than the Prime nodded. "Now."

Prowl let his lip plate quirk as he nodded once. "Good."

He reset the program.

"Stand." He waited until the Prime was back on his pedes and then set the balls into motion again, though he added two more. "There are nine spheres now. You will start Form Fifteen. Stop moving and tell me when they are down to three."

The Prime blinked, perhaps surprised that Prowl had chosen a form two levels below the last one he had mastered. To his credit however, he said nothing.

"Begin." The orbs resumed their complicated and intricate dance as the Prime dropped obediently into the first stance and started flowing through the required movements and stances.

This twist made the exercise more difficult in that the observer was also moving relative to the orbs. It must have also been something the Prime had not yet had practiced.

He froze. "Now."

Prowl paused the program as soon as the Prime had himself frozen. "There are still four." He corrected softly, abruptly hesitant. For all that the Prime had requested he be his Circuit Su master, it was still an intimidating thing to so boldly correct the _Prime_.

Blinking, the large cobalt and crimson mech looked briefly around before releasing a frustrated vent. "Indeed."

Prowl found himself looking back into searching optics that somehow read him like an unencrypted data pad, though he could not read the Prime in return. After a long moment the Prime nodded acceptance of whatever he had seen and Prowl found he could cycle air more easily.

The tactician allowed a tiny smirk as he reset the program, sending the spheres spinning through the room once more. "Again. This time, use Form Twelve. Begin."

As the Prime's frame dropped into motion, Prowl spoke, coaching the larger mech through the exercise. The Prime managed to get it correct that time. However when he repeated it, without Prowl's assistance, he again missed it by one sphere.

It took three more tries before Optimus was successful and Prowl could tell it was frustrating the Prime even though nothing slipped that calm exterior. It was not until after the Prime finally succeeded on his own that Prowl called the lesson to a close.

Optimus looked at him askance and Prowl knew he had a question. When the larger mech did not ask it, Prowl realized he was following tradition and was waiting, trusting Prowl to sense his curiosity and grant him permission to speak. As small as the gesture was, it served to drive home to the Praxian just how serious the Prime took their relative roles within the discipline.

"Yes?" He asked the silent Prime.

"I do not understand why this was so difficult." Optimus wasted no time in framing his frustration.

Prowl gave him the tiniest smile and obligingly explained, inclining his helm respectfully. "Your awareness of the mechs you interact with, your ability to read them, is tremendous. This exercise was different; there were no matters of the spark or processor for you to manage. It was simply about motion and existence. It merely stretched your awareness in directions you are not practiced with. Once mastered, it will only add breadth to the depth of awareness you already possess."

Optimus' helm cocked fractionally to one side as he considered Prowl and his explanation. Then, almost abruptly, he nodded. "I see. Thank you."

Prowl allowed himself to release a vent he realized he had failed to cycle and returned the Prime's half-bow. "If your schedule allows it, I would like to revisit this exercise tomorrow."

This time the Prime cocked an optic ridge, though he dipped his helm in agreement. "Baring an emergency, I shall be here at the same joor I was this orn."

Prowl returned the gesture courteously. "Thank you, sir."

With the respectful nod and tone of voice and deferential words, Prowl tried to acknowledge to his Prime that he still knew his place in the true chain of command. It was a privilege and an _honor_ to be the Prime's instructor. It was not something to be taken for granted, nor was it something he would presume upon.

… … …

Three orns after Optimus Prime had formalized their Circuit Su relationship, Prowl gained final approval – in conjunction with finally having a few spare joors to initiate it – to begin training the frontline response teams. It was time to iron out a training schedule and he believed that most of it could be done using pre-programmed simulations, at least after initial sessions. He stopped by the training room to finish writing the program he had devised for the task.

He was just finishing when a spark signature registered on his scanners. A familiar spark signature that resonated between two frames.

He froze, stiffening, waiting to see if they were simply headed to another training room or if they were coming to confront him. When they stopped at the door to the chamber he was in, Prowl knew they had come for him.

Prowl was far from intimidated as he turned toward the door and waited. He knew the Twins were nothing he could not handle: he had done so numerous times in the past.

Nothing happened at first. It was as if they were just standing there. Then he detected the telltale indications that they were hacking the door.

Prowl's lower jaw hung slightly open as he made that realization.

Curious, he took a nearly silent step closer, and then another, until he was standing just inside the door. The noises he was hearing were almost nervous and rushed and he belatedly realized they were also wearing dampeners and that _that_ was why he had not detected their presence until they were so close. If he had not had the upgraded sensors, there was a real likelihood he would still be ignorant of their arrival.

They were not expecting to be caught.

Finding he was oddly amused, rather than upset, even knowing they were up to no good, Prowl chose to simply see what it was they were planning.

So he waited, arms crossed over his chassis, for whatever they were going to do.

A muffled voice – Sideswipe's – reached through the metal door. "Oh… he hadn't even locked it. Why wouldn't he lock it?"

The answer he received was the sound of metal striking metal and a muffled. "Duh!"

"What the slag? Sunstreaker!"

"Shut up! He's a doorwinger, you glitch." Sunstreaker hissed. "He'll hear you."

"Oh. Right. Sorry." There was a pause, then: "Well, here we go."

Overhearing that, knowing he was not intended to, Prowl did not move. He was, however, smirking openly by the time the door finally slid open.

Silver and gold mechs froze, finding themselves virtually chassis to chassis with Prowl as the metal barrier slid away. Coming face to face with their clearly _not_ surprised quarry, they only stared for the span of several long astroseconds, optics dilating.

But the stillness was not destined to last longer than that before Sideswipe jerked backward, slamming into his twin, who over balanced, sending them both crashing to the ground. Together, they scrambled back to their pedes and started to dart away.

Prowl called out, his voice reverberating with the tenor of authority that his new rank granted him; the voice of an experienced Enforcer they had learned to heed even if they did not like. "Sideswipe. Sunstreaker. Halt."

They halted, as if Prowl's command had been directly input into their motor relays. They glanced at each other before slowly turning to look at him. Prowl watched them silently, examining their behavior and posture carefully. Their armor was flared defiantly, but their optics seemed more troubled. Sunstreaker's hands clenched into fists while Sideswipe shifted his weight nervously from front to back.

"You clearly had business here." Prowl intoned, his quiet voice intimidatingly flat. "Why don't you come in?"

Sideswipe glanced at his brother again. "Um… Uh, no, that's alright, we…"

"That was not a suggestion." Prowl's optics narrowed in warning.

Sunstreaker's vents flared, but Sideswipe looked at him suddenly. Prowl knew there was silent communications passing between them, especially when Sunstreaker blinked. Then the golden warrior looked sharply at his Twin. Sideswipe nodded once and they turned back to him. Prowl found he was rather disconcerted by their expressions.

Together, they moved forward and Prowl stepped aside and then closed the door behind them. They turned as if wary of having their backs to him. As the door shut, Sideswipe actually flinched before stiffening his spine. Sunstreaker's engine revved.

Prowl blinked.

He would never have believed what his optics were telling him. Not from the Twins of all mechs. But he had had plenty of experience in reading and dealing with behavior like this since he had defected. He knew the signs. The Twins were frightened.

Of him.

That nearly rocked him to his core, once more shaking his assumptions about them, softening the rigid flare of his armor just a fraction. "You went to a lot of trouble to get in here." He said neutrally. "Now you are. By all means, continue."

The two twins just looked at each other, almost as if in disbelief. Then Sideswipe stepped forward, a mischievous, if still tentative smile touching his faceplate.

"Hot plasma makes ice crystals grow on Ironhide's aft."

Prowl blinked, jerking back. "Excuse me?"

Straightening his shoulder guards, Sunstreaker stepped up to join his brother. "Energon made from organic mud is extra tasty."

Prowl frowned. "Energon is not extracted from mud. Furthermore, Cybertron is an a-biotic world; there is no mud here. Your statement is illogical."

They must have taken that as encouragement to continue, for they stepped toward him again, spreading out a few meters to presumably attack him from two sides. Prowl stiffened, but the only assault that came was a flurry of additional nonsensical and contradictory statements.

"Megatron's armor is cute and fluffy…"

"Up is down and all around…"

"Number one is the loneliest number that there ever was…"

"A liquid nitrogen bath makes me feel warm and cuddly…"

"The acid rain in Tyger Pax stays mainly on the plains…"

And so on.

Prowl's optics widened and then narrowed as the inane barrage continued. Initially taken aback by what was happening – his tactical computers trying to decide if there was a threat while his logic center attempted to make sense of the matter – Prowl finally realized that the Twins were acting as if their relentless attack of nonsense _was _their purpose there. Though what they hopped to gain by it was a mystery.

Perhaps they were malfunctioning.

After it continued for a quarter of a breem – some of the one-line quips becoming rather colorful in a way he never wanted Bluestreak to hear – Prowl simply raised an optic ridge. Deciding he had had enough of… what ever it was… he interrupted, his tone and posture the exact way it had been when they had started.

"Is something wrong with your vocalizers?"

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe stumbled to a stop. Sunstreaker's engine revved unhappily, while Sideswipe cleared his vents. "Um… it didn't work."

Sunstreaker hissed at his twin and swatted him across the shoulder. "Obviously. Why don't you say something even more stupid that will make you seem smarter."

Sideswipe opened his mouth to retort, but Prowl cut in dryly. "You have both uttered enough stupid comments to last for a while." He looked at the silver warrior. "What exactly were you hoping to achieve?"

"Uh…" Sideswipe shifted backwards and, sensing they were going to try and run, Prowl remotely locked the door, encrypting it tightly enough even Jazz would have to work at breaking it.

Sure enough, they attempted to bolt for freedom, only to come up against unrelenting, reinforced metal. They spun back to face Prowl, open worry and concern on their faceplates now.

"You did not answer the question." Prowl informed them blandly, taking a step closer to them. Only to be taken aback when Sunstreaker straightened, shifting faintly as if steeling himself. Sideswipe did likewise.

"Do whatever you want to us _commander._ Whatever happens to us, they will know who did it and you won't get away with it." Sunstreaker spoke with a sudden surge of belligerence.

Prowl straightened, a glance at Sideswipe confirming he too expected something strongly negative from him. Reminded bluntly of their overriding fear that he would betray them and the Autobots, Prowl forced himself to ease his aggressive posture.

"I have no intention of 'doing' anything to you." He shook his helm. "I am merely curious as to what _you_ were trying to do."

They stared at him, then looked back at each other. Another long moment of silent communication passed and then Sideswipe took a cautious step closer. "You… you aren't going to thrash us?"

Prowl cocked an optic ridge. "Do I need to?"

"Uh…"

"As far as I can tell, the both of you attempted to attack me with a prolonged volley of illogical nonsense." Prowl pointed out, cutting him off. "I do not see what is punishable about that. Unless… I have missed something."

Sideswipe snorted quietly, looking away. "You weren't _supposed_ to be conscious after that." He muttered.

Sunstreaker reached out and winged him again, this time across the back of his helm. "_Think_ before you speak, dimwit."

Sideswipe flinched and then looked at Prowl, optics wide. "I… uh… That is, I… um…"

While Sideswipe flailed verbally, Prowl's still spinning tactical computer took that clearly accidental admission and processed all the possible ramifications of what Sideswipe might have meant. As soon as it came back with the highest probability, he felt his frame heat.

"You expected that childish inanity to make me _crash_?" A hint of anger unintentionally slipped into his voice and Prowl only realized it had by the way the twins reacted.

Sideswipe ducked his helm, armor flattening across his shoulders, while Sunstreaker's vents flared and he stepped forward to place himself between Prowl and his brother.

Prowl saw their reactions and their well-concealed terror helped him regain control. He pulled in a deep cycle of air. And then another. "Why?"

"To prove that you aren't as stable as everyone thinks you are." Sunstreaker growled.

Prowl's vents flared. "For what reason?"

"Because an unstable tactician is a dangerous tactician." Sunstreaker stepped closer to Prowl. "You are a threat to the Autobots and we will prove it."

"Clearly you are wrong." Prowl contradicted.

"In _this_ case, perhaps. That doesn't mean you aren't still a threat." Sunstreaker's armor flared challengingly as he stepped closer, but Prowl's gaze was drawn to the clearly nervous Sideswipe still standing braced against the training room door. The silver warrior was watching his brother worriedly.

Prowl realized then that Sunstreaker was attempting to provoke him, intentionally trying to get him to lash out. To hurt him.

Prowl's engine revved. "I am _not_ going to attack you, Sunstreaker."

"Then I'll attack you!" And Sunstreaker leapt at him.

Not truly surprised, Prowl sidestepped the initial lunge, turning the blow aside with a swiftness only well-honed instincts could manage. Sunstreaker snarled and turned back to him, attacking with kicks and punches that had more in common with a street brawler than a trained warrior.

Sunstreaker had always been a mech who depended on blind aggression and ferocity rather than skill and tact. That had not changed since the war began, apparently.

It was almost absurdly easy to avoid most of the golden frontliner's blows, Prowl's thick Enforcer's armor absorbing the rest easily. Blind in his single-focused intent to elicit an answering rage from Prowl, Sunstreaker was almost careless and that allowed Prowl to find an appropriate opening just over a single breem into the attack.

With a frustrated growl, Prowl parried yet another blow and then darted in to sweep Sunstreaker off his pedes. A startled squawk was the only sound the golden twin made before Prowl drove him into the mat.

Sunstreaker continued to struggle for a moment but, realizing he was bested, eventually lay still. Worried engine noises from in front of him, made Prowl look up, his piercing blue optics freezing Sideswipe before he could try to come to his brother's rescue.

Realizing he was on his own and at Prowl's mercy, Sunstreaker wisely became absolutely motionless, even his vent's stalling mid-cycle.

"You have the potential to be a better fighter than this, Sunstreaker." Prowl spoke lowly, not releasing his hold. "But you let anger and fear blind you."

"I am not afraid of you." Sunstreaker spit back, snarling.

"Not for yourself." Prowl allowed tightly. "But you do fear for others. That can lend strength… or it can become a liability. I am not your enemy."

"You have always been our enemy. Back in Praxus…"

"Before the war, you two were criminals." Prowl interrupted sharply. "I was an Enforcer. But that is no longer the case. Now we are both soldiers in the same army."

Sunstreaker just stared up at him, optics hard, his frame still tense with resistance. It was Sideswipe who broke the taught silence. "Bro… I think… I think if he were gonna thrash you, he would have done so already."

Sunstreaker glanced briefly at his twin but Prowl nodded, regaining his attention. "He is right." Prowl paused. "Give me your word you will not attack me again."

Blue optics widened as Sunstreaker took that in. "What is my word to you?"

Prowl allowed an optic ridge to quirk. "You give me a chance to prove I am not a Decepticon traitor and I will give you two the chance to prove you are more than criminal miscreants."

Sunstreaker blinked at him three times in rapid succession then he nodded hesitantly, as if not entirely sure he could trust the proffered deal. Receiving that nod, Prowl released the vulnerable fuel line he had closed his hand around and, just as slowly, backed away and allowed the golden warrior to regain his pedes.

Once all three of them were standing again, Sunstreaker cleared his vents. "Why would you make such an offer?"

"We need to be able to work together." Prowl explained simply. "As a tactician, it is my job to place mechs where they can best use their skills, both to defeat the enemy and to support those around them as necessary. You need to be able to trust that I will not betray you in that position, and I need to be able to trust that you will be where I need you to be in a battle."

They looked at him closely and then looked at each other again for a long moment. Prowl waited patiently as they discussed his offer over their internal comms. Finally Sideswipe looked back at him.

"So… this is business – work related, I mean – not a personal arrangement?"

Prowl allowed a tiny smile. "Correct. I do not expect we will ever come to actually _like_ each other. So long as you follow my orders in the battlefield, I will ask nothing so demanding outside of where our various duties cross."

"But you outrank us now." Sideswipe pointed out.

"You are not under my direct command, except during an actual engagement." Prowl corrected, worried that he might be making a serious strategic error here. "Outside of that, I do not expect anything more than common decency afforded any other mech."

They considered him silently for a moment, then Sunstreaker's engine revved. "This agreement is void if you betray us or the Autobots."

"I would expect nothing less." Prowl straightened formally.

They turned to each other for another momentary, silent consultation then looked back at him.

"Agreed." They said in unison.

Prowl watched silently as the Twins left him alone in the training room. Though he had gained the agreement he had solicited, he could not help but be uneasy about how simple it had been, at how easily they had acquiesced.

* * *

_My thanks to __**RamenKnight**__ for helping me with the Twins in this chapter. _

_Note: Apparently there is a Blades in the cannon lore… (thank you __**Bee4ever**__ for pointing that out) my Blades is not him, at least not intentionally. If, by chance, the characters match up then that is just a happy coincidence... but I'll take all the credit anyway *Cheeky grin*_

_In consultation with __**Nikkie2010, **__all the kind reminders and requests everyone has shared and my gracious family and friends at home, I have decided to re-conceptualize the coming time jump. (Everyone can take a deep breath now :D) It will instead be a series of smaller jumps. This is better, yes, in that the story will flow more smoothly and have fewer holes. But, the down side is I now have a big chunk of reorganization and writing to do that wasn't in the original outline… including drafting an outline for the missing scenes so they all actually __**fit**__ into the overall story and don't feel like random additions. It is one thing to do that with a scen or two within a single chapter here and there, but we are talking multiple chapters with no outline and no preliminary planning at this point so: for the sake of quality control those steps must be taken. Thus, this two-week delay or more between updates is likely to continue, at least until we are back to where my original outline continues. On that note, _

_I will thank you in advance for your patience. Likewise, I want to thank everyone for your awesome support of this story. You guys are the best! I am still taking requests, if you have a pressing wish or desire to see, by the way._


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